


His Brother's Keeper

by OpalBee



Series: His Brother's Keeper [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mating Bond, Romance, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2018-01-05 10:38:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 46
Words: 405,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpalBee/pseuds/OpalBee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since they were pups, Vilkas has been told to take care of his brother.  The arrival of a newcomer to the Companions makes that impossible for Vilkas, and when everything around him starts to fall apart the newblood is a convenient place to put the blame.</p><p>For most of their lives, Farkas has followed his brother's lead, taking the easy way out, hiding parts of his life to keep his brother content.  A chance encounter on the plains forces him to realize that keeping his twin in the dark has done neither of them any favors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to try something different here than what I'm used to, so this is told entirely in the twins' alternating viewpoints. I bit off more than I could comfortably chew with _Grohiiki, Kodaavi_ , so this is predominantly a romance, with the bulk of the story taking place after the events of both Dawnguard and Dragonborn, focusing pretty much entirely on the Companions and their story line, with the quests tweaked a bit. With the last story I wanted to accomplish something grand, something epic; this story is nothing but pure, unadulterated, fluffy, angsty self-entertainment.
> 
> Cheers!

** Farkas – 16th of Frostfall, 4E204 **

“The arrogant bastard,” Vilkas muttered.

Farkas didn’t respond to his brother, knowing the comment didn’t require a response. Or merit one. He stood with his twin at the top of the steps leading up to Jorrvaskr and watched the Dragonborn coming down from Dragonsreach, where an honest-to-god live dragon was roaring in complaint, its voice making the walls of every building in the city tremble, much as the shouted battle had right before that. Guards filled the plaza around the dead Gildergreen, keeping the curious and frightened throngs from going up to Dragonsreach or bothering the Dragonborn. Farkas couldn’t understand Vilkas’ problem with the man. Sure, he had helped depose Balgruuf, which Farkas wasn’t all that happy about either, since the twins had grown up alongside the Jarl and his brother Hrongar, but Vignar was a good Jarl too, and a Companion at that. Or he had been until the Circle kicked him out of the guild, telling him he had broken the Companions’ long-standing neutrality and couldn’t be both a Jarl and a Companion. Well, he couldn’t, and that was a fact, but Farkas didn’t have any hard feelings about it. Vignar did, but not Farkas. Not much was worth hard feelings.

He didn’t have any hard feelings towards the Dragonborn either…whoever he was. No one was even all that sure what he looked like. No one knew what his real name was, didn't know much more than that he was a Nord and a former Legion spellsword who had nearly gotten his head chopped off in Helgen for protesting Ulfric Stormcloak’s lack of a trial and had joined the Jarl’s camp first chance he got. Farkas couldn’t really blame the guy for it. He wouldn’t appreciate getting sentenced to death just for insisting Ulfric get a fair shake. Imperials sure liked their laws, and sure liked ignoring them when it was convenient.

“Just look at him,” Vilkas sneered. Heimskr was beside himself, his hands clutched worshipfully in front of him as the Dragonborn approached the shrine of Talos, his hand held up as if trying to calm the priest down.

“Yeah, it’s really something.” The full Daedric armor looked evil as hell, but considering what the Dragonborn had been through the last three-plus years Farkas supposed he needed it. The man ate dragons for breakfast and vampires for lunch. He had wiped out the Dark Brotherhood. He hunted the Thalmor wherever he found them. He had single-handedly won Ulfric’s war for him. He had personally cut off General Tullius’ head then stuck it on a pike atop the main gate into Solitude just a few days ago. He was Thane in half the holds, though he hadn’t come around Whiterun much over the years. Women wanted to have his babies, and men who were so inclined threw themselves at his feet. Farkas thought that a bit risky considering the guy could be ugly as sin for all anyone knew; he hadn’t gone anywhere since Helgen without his face covered, usually by either a full helmet or one of those creepy Dragon Priest masks. People said it had started at first because he was wanted by the Empire as a traitor and deserter, a death sentence hanging over his head like all the other Nord deserters, but now there was no Empire in Skyrim other than a few units of Legion soldiers trying to escape back to Cyrodiil. Well, the dragons were a bigger problem now than the Empire was. For most regular people they had been the biggest problem for the last three years.

The twins watched the Dragonborn approach the shrine of Talos, lifting his hands as if to touch the shrine then letting them fall, and when the horned helmet swung their direction Vilkas whispered fiercely, “What the hell is he looking at?”

“Us, I guess.” He snorted a laugh. “Maybe he finally wants to join the Companions, huh?” Farkas had actually met the guy once, a day after Helgen was destroyed, though they hadn’t known that yet. The man had helped Farkas and Aela take down the giant that was raiding the Pelagia farm, and when Aela had praised his archery skills and said he would make for a good shield-brother, he had laughed and said _Yeah, sure, maybe some other time,_ and had taken off at a run. Granted, he had been in a big hurry, but it had seriously pissed off Aela. And every other Companion who had heard the story. Farkas thought they were all being a little harsh, but he had to admit it was rude of the guy to not even come see what they were about. Even back then no one knew what he looked like; he’d worn Stormcloak chainmail armor then and an iron helmet, with one end of the blue cloth wrapped around the bottom half of his face. So many Nords had defected from the Legion that the guy could be anyone.

“Fuck him. He clearly thinks he’s too good for the likes of us. He can go to Oblivion if…bah!” Vilkas broke off as the Dragonborn stared at them, clenching then opening his fists, then suddenly started walking towards them. The townsfolk watching him went still as he walked up the stairs. Vilkas sneered at him and said, “What do you want?”

“I want to talk to Kodlak Whitemane,” the Dragonborn replied. The twins hesitated, and the man held his hands out to his sides. “I’m unarmed.”

Farkas shivered as the man’s voice resonated inside the helmet. People said it wasn’t just the helmet either, that he sounded like that when he wore the dragon priest masks too. They said his voice always held a faint touch of the thu’um, and Farkas could definitely hear it. It was spooky as hell, and that armor wasn’t helping things one bit. Farkas asked in confusion, “Why do you want to talk to him now?”

“That’s my business.”

Vilkas stated, “Too bad.” The Dragonborn crossed his arms. “State your business with Kodlak or you’re not getting in.”

“Is the old man so senile that you have to screen his visitors?”

“You son of a bitch!” Vilkas hissed, and he lunged at the Dragonborn before his brother caught him and hauled him back and the watching townsfolk gasped. The Dragonborn hadn’t moved an inch. He seemed completely indifferent. As if Vilkas was as much of a threat as a child. Maybe he was. The guy was a Legion veteran and could use magic and the thu’um. Him saying he was unarmed wasn’t true at all. It never was.

Farkas said with a frown, “That was kinda rude. I hope you have good intentions.” At that the man’s head reared back slightly.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he retorted. “All I want to do is talk to him for a few minutes. I’m working inside a fairly tight time frame here, you know. Cut me some slack.”

Farkas’ frown deepened. The Dragonborn sounded…young. Barely more than a kid. Farkas hadn’t expected that.

The Dragonborn said with impatience, “Look, I’m… I just want to talk to the Harbinger for a few minutes. Explain why I never joined up.”

Vilkas said in contempt, “As if the reasons aren’t obvious.”

“You two and your distracting good looks?”

Farkas broke into surprised guffaws at that, while Vilkas only seethed further, offended. Well, it never took much, but he didn’t usually let it show in public. Farkas gave his twin a gentle shove and said, “Let the guy talk to the old man. What are you afraid of?”

“I fear nothing,” Vilkas stated.

“Oooh,” the Dragonborn murmured in mock fascination. Vilkas growled furiously and turned on his heel, slamming open the door to Jorrvaskr and storming inside. “Is he always that easy to rile up?”

“Pretty much,” Farkas said without concern. He turned and waved his hand. “Come on, I’ll take you to the old man.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

Once the guy was at the top of the stairs, Farkas whistled in surprise. “Wow, you’re, uh…”

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” the Dragonborn sighed.

“And you’re not, ah…”

“No, I’m not an Imperial or a Breton. Or anything else. Full-blooded Nord. Both parents. Can’t explain it.” He sounded as if he had to frequently.

“It’s just that…” The guy was so _tiny._ Well, not tiny, really, since Farkas knew that he himself was big for a Nord, but the top of the Dragonborn’s head barely topped Farkas’ shoulder. Maybe that was why he sounded so young, because he was small, but then plenty of men of other races were that size and had deeper voices, so maybe not. It made Farkas more curious about his looks than ever. His age. His story. Why hadn’t anyone ever said how little the guy was? How had Farkas not noticed during that single encounter with the giant long ago? He supposed they had been standing a fair distance apart, but it was still a little shocking. Well, he supposed people came in all shapes and sizes, even Nords sometimes.

“Yeah, well I can still lay you out flat on your ass, even without the thu’um, so watch it.”

“Okay. No offense.” The Dragonborn grunted then sighed and waved him off. As Farkas led him inside he said, “So you really have a dragon trapped up there? In that big wooden thingy on the Porch?” Farkas had seen it a dozen times and had never guessed that it might still work, or that it ever really had. Sure, that dragon skull hung over the Jarl's throne, but that could've been dug up anywhere.

“Sure do. Want to come take a look at it before I go?”

Farkas’ eyes widened. “Seriously?”

“Sure, why not? You seem like you’d appreciate it.” He laughed shortly and gave Farkas a nudge. “Then you can tell your brother all about it later, eh?”

“You sure Vignar won’t mind? There’s uh, issues there.”

“So what. Vignar can kiss my ass. If I say I want you to see it, he'll let you see it.”

Farkas frowned, torn over what to do, and out of the corner of his eye he saw his twin lurking in the shadows on a bench by the back doors, glowering so deeply it looked like it had to hurt his face. He debated telling the Dragonborn no, to keep from upsetting Vilkas, but the rest of the Circle kept telling him he needed to stand up to his brother, and who knew when he’d get the chance to see a live dragon up close ever again? He found himself saying, “Okay. I’ll come see it.”

The Dragonborn slapped him on the back and said in a happy tone, “That’s the spirit. Man’s gotta live for himself sometimes…Farkas, right?”

“Yeah, I’m Farkas. My brother is Vilkas.”

“Well met.”

“Likewise, ah…”

“Just Dragonborn. Or Dovahkiin if you’re feeling fancy.”

“I’m not fancy.”

“Yeah, I took your brother for the fancy one.”

As they went down the stairs Farkas heard the faint hiss of _Asshole!_ from where Vilkas was sitting. There was no telling if the Dragonborn heard it, but he didn’t act like he did. It was probably kind of hard to hear inside that nasty helmet, and the guy didn't have a werewolf's hearing. “Are you gonna have to do that forever? Hide your name and face and everything?”

“Nah, not forever. Just until I get a few things wrapped up. I’ve got family, people I care about, and I can’t expose them until I feel it’s safe. Now that the Empire is on its way out of Skyrim and Ulfric nearly on the throne I’m almost there. Finish up the vampires after this and I’m home free and can finally start living for myself for once.” They went through the door at the bottom of the stairs and he quietly added, “It’s not like I enjoy living this way. It’s a huge pain in the ass, frankly.”

“Seems like it would be.” Farkas stopped in the hallway, catching the Dragonborn’s arm.

“What?”

“About Kodlak…”

“Yeah?”

Farkas didn’t miss the wary tone to the other man’s voice, though he couldn’t imagine what the cause of it was. “He’s uh, well, try not to upset him. He’s been…sick.” The Dragonborn didn’t react to that, not that Farkas could tell, the armor making it impossible to get much in the way of clues from him. He simply stood there, unmoving, the eye holes of his helmet eerily black and empty. “He doesn’t want people to know, and Vilkas would be pissed if he found out you knew, but we can’t hide it much longer, and you might be able to tell, being…well. He’s had a cough he can’t shake, for over a year now. Danica says it’s the rot. In his lungs. It uh, it doesn’t have a cure. She says it’s not really a disease, not like witbane or rockjoint or anything, but…I don’t understand stuff like that. Vilkas does, but not me.” The Dragonborn still didn’t respond, and Farkas fidgeted uncomfortably, not sure what else to say. He suddenly caught the faint whiff of… _something_ from the armor, something that smelled like blood, but no blood that Farkas could identify, and it made his nose wrinkle in disgust. Maybe it was Daedra blood he smelled. Eorlund had told Farkas once that he wouldn’t work on Daedric armor because it required Daedra hearts. Farkas couldn’t blame him.

The Dragonborn cleared his throat. “How ah...long does he have?”

“Oh. Uh, we don’t know. He won’t tell us. We think he told Skjor though. They’re closer than kin.” The Dragonborn nodded, and Farkas motioned with his head then started walking again. “I guess we’re all close. Like family. But Skjor and Kodlak go way back. Well, Vilkas and I do too. With Kodlak, I mean. Kodlak was like a father to us, after our real dad left. Tough, but fair. Vilkas took the news about the rot really hard. That’s why he went after you like that. He really loves the old man. I do too, but not like Vilkas does.”

“I…guess I’ll go easier on him then. Vilkas, I mean.”

“Thanks. He’s a good guy, I swear.”

“Sure.” The Dragonborn didn’t sound convinced, but Farkas supposed right now he didn’t need to be.

Kodlak was at the desk in his office, the doors wide open as they usually were. The Dragonborn’s footsteps were only slightly less heavy than Farkas’ own. He couldn’t help wondering how such a small man’s frame could carry that kind of weight. He’d heard the guy was supposedly strong as an ox, though. Kodlak looked up from the ledger then leaned back hard in his chair, his eyes widening in surprise.

“So,” Kodlak drawled. The Dragonborn stood before him at parade rest, his hands clasped behind his back. The Harbinger coughed into his fist then leaned back in his chair and waited.

While the two men stared at each other, Farkas helpfully said, “He caught a dragon. Up at Dragonsreach.”

Kodlak said in a patient tone, “Yes son, I’m well aware of that. The entire city heard the commotion.” His eyes narrowed at the Dragonborn as he went on, “I fail to see the reason for this visit, Dovahkiin. You made your feelings on the Companions quite clear three years ago.”

“Not clear enough, apparently,” the younger man replied in a tight voice.

“That’s what he’s here for,” Farkas explained.

The Dragonborn turned his head slightly and said to Farkas, “I’d like a few minutes alone with him.”

“No,” Kodlak said curtly. “Say whatever you have to say and be on your way.”

The Dragonborn made a sound of offense and said, “Have you paid any attention at all to what I’ve been doing for the last three years? Does that amount to nothing to the lot of you? I brought peace to this country--”

“At the tip of a sword. You unseated the man who made Whiterun the most prosperous hold in Skyrim. A good man.”

“Yes, and he and his family still live because of me. I refused to let Galmar put them to the sword, or any of the other Jarls who were unseated. I patrolled every city we took to make sure no war crimes were committed. I carried myself with honor, and I made sure every man and woman under my command did the same.” He made a sound of derision. “So I brought peace to Skyrim by making war. This from a group who prostitutes themselves and kills for coin. _Mercenaries._ At least I kill for what I believe in.” Kodlak’s eyes narrowed at the insult but he didn’t rise to it other than that. “A year and a half ago I was in Markarth and watched that blond goon of yours beat the shit out of a Reachwoman half his size and leave her bleeding in the street, all for coin, and when he saw me he spit at my feet before he walked away. I would’ve returned the favor if Ulfric hadn’t made me promise to not interfere with the Companions in any way. When I healed the woman afterward I asked her if she knew any reason why someone would send you people after her and all she had done was flirt with a Nord woman’s man. How dare you cast judgment on me when this is nothing but a group of thugs for hire!”

Kodlak drew in a deep breath and lifted his eyes to Farkas. “Is this true? About Torvar?”

Farkas shrugged, saying, “Could be. Job didn’t come from me though. I keep mine fair.” It wasn’t as if the Companions were obliged to take every job that came their way, but when jobs like that came up Farkas always made sure the bout was fair. He never asked what the reason for the contract was and didn’t really care, though the buyers usually felt compelled to explain it to make themselves feel better; if the reason was unethical Farkas refused the job and sent the money back. Knowing the job was to rough up a Reachwoman, he would’ve sent Athis, not Torvar. That wasn’t fair at all, and he could see why it had pissed off the Dragonborn.

Kodlak’s irritation seemed to relent at that, and the Harbinger said to the Dragonborn, “That is not how we—” He grimaced and broke into a coughing fit, and once it subsided he said in a rough voice, “That is not how we usually do things, Dovahkiin.”

“Yeah? How about five months ago when I was up in the hills outside Morthal fighting a dragon, and I take care of the thing and when I finally pull my sorry ass off the ground I see the old one-eyed guy and the shield-maiden standing off to the side, just watching. I asked why the hell they didn’t help me, and the old man said it wasn’t their fight. I suppose the end of the world just isn’t the Companions’ business, is that it? Not unless someone pays you to make it your problem?”

Appalled, Farkas whispered in disbelief, “Skjor said that?”

Kodlak sighed heavily, saying, “I think there have been some misunderstandings.”

The Dragonborn looked up at Farkas and said, “His exact words were, ‘Not our fight, Dragonborn. Besides, you can take care of yourself, can’t you.’ How did I manage to misunderstand that? You people sure know how to hold a fucking grudge. All my life I’ve heard about _your_ glory and honor then you turn around and piss all over mine. I’ve spent the last three years running myself into the ground with hardly any thought for myself, and yet every time I’ve run into a Companion I’ve either gotten smart-assed comments or spit at or dirty looks, and it was all because I didn’t have time to join your little club? When the fuck would I have found the time, even if I did have the inclination?”

Farkas stared wide-eyed at the man, who was breathing deeply with his fists clenched at his sides as if he was fighting to control himself. Kodlak stared at him as well, with a look of bewilderment on his craggy face. Farkas finally asked, “But…so why are you here, then?”

“For the reason I said: to explain why I never joined. I’ve had too much on my plate from the start, and yet every Companion I run across gets pissy with me. I haven’t had time yet to have a life of my own, and I’m supposed to parcel myself out even further? Fuck no.” He reached up as if to rub his face then realized he had a helmet on and let his hands fall, suddenly deflating. “I want to talk to the Harbinger alone.”

Farkas looked at Kodlak, who was gazing at the Dragonborn with regret. “Uh…want me to go?”

Kodlak ignored the question and said to the Dragonborn, “As I said, I think there have been misunderstandings.”

“Yeah? How so?” the man retorted.

“There—” He cleared his throat then gave into the cough for a moment then went on, “There is some resentment among the ranks, it is true. The warriors here hold our company in high esteem. That someone would refuse our offer to join wounded some people’s pride, and when it became apparent who you were it made matters worse. There’s also the fact that all this running around you’ve been doing has put a serious dent in our cash flow, let’s say.”

“Eh…ohh,” the younger man muttered in a sheepish tone. “I see.”

“Yes. Many of those that you’ve helped over the last three years…before you came along, those jobs would have been sent to the Companions.”

He said in a helpless voice, “So what am I supposed to do when a problem is staring me in the face? Tell them, ‘Oh, sorry, you’ll have to write a letter to the Companions and hope they can deal with it in time’? I can’t tell people that. I can’t just walk away. My honor won’t allow it. It’s my duty to help people. Ulfric says it’s my…” He trailed off, seeing Kodlak’s lips purse.

“Yes, Ulfric. I would take anything the Bear of Markarth says with a grain of salt. Or two.”

“He’s not perfect, I know, but he’s a great man. A good man. He knows there are things he could have done differently, he admits that. I’ve spent a lot of time around him. I trust him.”

“Hm, very well. Let us hope that the man who lives in the city of Ysgramor and sits upon his throne lives up to at least _some_ of his ideals.”

“He has no plans to slaughter all the elves in Skyrim, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Kodlak winced a bit at the pointed statement. “Well, unless they’re Thalmor.” He huffed and said, “Look, are you going to let me talk to you alone or not? I need to go.”

Frowning, the older man replied, “What do you need to say to me that can’t be said in front of Farkas?”

The Dragonborn fidgeted, wiggling his fingers inside their gloves, then he quietly stated, “Bruma. 175.”

Farkas watched in utter confusion as his Harbinger’s skin turned ashen and pale, his eyes widening in what looked to be horror. “Uh, should I go?” he asked uncertainly. Kodlak slowly nodded, not taking his eyes off the Dragonborn, and when Farkas saw them start to glisten he turned on his heel and practically fled, closing the doors behind him as he went. He did _not_ want to hear whatever it was that had made his Harbinger and foster father look like that. He had never in his life seen anything like it on Kodlak’s face, and he never wanted to again.

** Vilkas **

He rose to his feet as his twin came up from the living quarters, and he barked, “Where is that little prick? He had better not be bothering Kodlak.” The old man needed his rest, and there was nothing restful about the Dragonborn.

“Kodlak wanted me to leave, so I left,” Farkas protested. “What was I supposed to do, ignore him?”

“What did the Dragonborn have to say that was so damn important? Or couldn’t wait?”

Farkas shrugged and flopped down in a seat at the end of the dining table. “Don’t know what they had to say in private. ‘Cause it was private.”

Vilkas walked over to him and prompted impatiently, “But what did they say before that?”

“He said he never joined the Companions because he was too busy. He said he was tired of running into us on the road and getting attitude. Kodlak said there was some kind of misunderstanding, then he told him how all his good deeds have been cutting into our profits.”

“No shit they have!” Contracts were down by nearly half. Honor was well and good, but this was a business. Vilkas knew that better than anyone; not only was he Master at Arms but he was also responsible for balancing the books, able to do the math more quickly in his head than the others could do it on an abacus. Since the day the Dragonborn had started his adventures around Skyrim the Companions had watched their income go on a steady downward slide.

“The guy didn’t know, and he had a good point: if someone needs his help and he’s right there, he can’t just tell them no and walk away. It isn’t right.”

Vilkas fumed, but even he wasn’t cold-blooded enough to do that to someone.

Farkas asked, “Are you the one who sent Torvar to rough up some Reachwoman in Markarth a year and a half ago?”

“Could be, what of it?”

“Dragonborn says Torvar was twice her size and left her bleeding in the street. Says he beat the shit out of her then spit at the Dragonborn and walked away.” Vilkas frowned at that, lowering himself into a seat next to his brother. Farkas went on in a lowered voice, “That isn’t right either, Vilkas. It makes us look bad. It makes us look like thugs, just like he said. He made it sound like the other reason he never joined us is because he questions our honor.”

“Maybe Torvar had been drinking.”

“He’s not supposed to drink on the job. He could’ve killed her.”

“And maybe the Dragonborn exaggerated the entire thing,” Vilkas said in a sour tone. “I’m sure Mister Hero-to-the-Masses found the sight of some pretty little girl with a bloody nose quite upsetting.” Farkas slowly shook his head at him, his pale eyes narrowed. Well, his twin had always been the more idealistic one, and like it or not it was a product of his limited intellect. He saw everything in black or white, good or bad, with little room for subtlety. Vilkas leaned back in the chair, balancing it on two legs, and said in a patient tone, “Look brother, it’s very nice that the Dragonborn has been doing all these good deeds for—”

“You’d better not be talking down to me,” Farkas growled. “I hear that tone to your voice. You’re talking down to me.”

Farkas was slow to anger, but once roused he was like a raging bull, and even Vilkas knew better than to tangle with an enraged Farkas. “I am not,” he protested, even though he had been. “I am trying to be charitable to someone who has single-handedly nearly put us out of business. Over four thousand years we have been here, and for the first time in recorded memory there aren’t enough jobs to go around, and it’s because of the Dragonborn. That is a simple statement of fact, and the reasons for it do not matter.”

“They do matter. The intent matters. There wasn't any ill will, in fact he seemed embarrassed.”

“How the hell would you be able to tell that through a helmet?”

“Uh, his voice?” Farkas retorted in annoyance. He scratched the back of his neck and went on more quietly, “It was weird though. He kept asking to talk to Kodlak alone, and Kodlak kept saying no, then he finally said ‘Bruma, 175’, and Kodlak looked like someone stepped on his grave. I asked him if he wanted me to go and he just nodded. So I left.”

Confused, Vilkas muttered, “That is odd.” Nothing rattled Kodlak. Gods knew the twins had spent enough of their childhood trying to get his goat. They’d gotten plenty of swats on the backside for it, but even then Kodlak had kept his calm. They had seen him angry plenty of times, but he always kept his composure. What could have happened in Bruma twenty-nine years ago that would get to Kodlak like that? There had been Thalmor atrocities committed in Bruma at the end of the war, but they should have had nothing to do with Kodlak. The twins had come to Jorrvaskr still in diapers thirty-eight years ago, and Kodlak had already been here then, though not long, still a young man and not yet a member of the Circle. Kodlak could have been in Bruma in 175 though, and he had been a member of the Circle by then. He had traveled widely his entire life, first as a mercenary then a bodyguard in Hammerfell, where the previous Harbinger Askar had found him during his own travels. Kodlak had kept traveling even as a Companion, taking the far-flung jobs others wouldn’t, and back then the Companions would occasionally take jobs in northern Cyrodiil, as the Fighters Guild had been decimated by the number of members who were fighting (and dying) in the war. Yes, Kodlak very well could have been in Bruma in 175; Vilkas remembered him being gone for sometimes a few months at a time back then, right before Jergen left. Kodlak had stopped traveling after that, taking over the job of raising the twins from their worthless father.

“What do you think it means?”

“Hell if I know. Once the Dragonborn leaves I’ll go down and talk to the old man. I’m certain he will tell me.” Kodlak trusted him with things that he trusted to only Skjor. He knew that Kodlak wanted Skjor to succeed him as Harbinger, but at fifty-eight the other man was only eight years younger than Kodlak, and so Vilkas hoped that Kodlak would see him as a viable option. He certainly felt like he was the best option, though he had to admit that he wasn’t the most objective person about the matter.

“Well I think you need to talk to Torvar.”

Vilkas rolled his eyes. “About something that happened a year and a half ago? Are you serious?”

Farkas grunted. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He brightened and said, “Dragonborn says I can go up to Dragonsreach with him and see the dragon before he…kills it or whatever he’s going to do.”

“Are you out of your damn mind? Forget it.”

“You can’t tell me no,” he said in aggravation. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Your brother.”

“So what? I’m forty goddamn years old. I’m going to go look at the dragon and if you don’t like it you can kiss my ass.”

Instead of getting angry, Vilkas frowned at him for a moment then asked, “Where is this coming from?” It had been happening more and more lately, at seemingly random moments.

Farkas’ irritation melted away as he said, “Uh, everyone says I need to stand up for myself more. With you.”

Vilkas sputtered. He should have known. “Find some different way to do it.”

“Well I’m going to go see the dragon. Besides, the Dragonborn won’t let anything happen to me.”

“Ah yes, just like he didn’t let anything happen to his two dead housecarls.” The twins had been good friends with Lydia, and hearing how she had died three years ago hadn’t helped endear Vilkas towards the Dragonborn one bit. Her death had been a senseless one, caught in a Dwemer trap. The other dead housecarl, Argis, had died fighting Forsworn in the Reach with his master two years ago. At least the Dragonborn had had the sense to stop taking housecarls out with him after that. Lydia’s death still hurt, just as Balgruuf being unseated still stung, and the Dragonborn was behind both losses. How many people in this country were missing loved ones because of the man's actions?

“It’s a housecarl’s job to protect their Thane, not the other way around. It wasn’t his fault either time.”

“You're awfully defensive of someone you don’t know.”

“I know his reputation, just like everyone else does, and he’s a good person. Nothing he said to Kodlak was wrong, you know.” Farkas fidgeted and softly added, “I really wish we knew what they were talking about. He acted like he was in a hurry.”

It took nearly fifteen minutes before they heard the downstairs door open and heavy booted feet on the stairs. All the other Companions were either out back training or on jobs, thank the Nine, or there really would have been a scene earlier. The Dragonborn had his arms folded tightly and his head down, and when Vilkas barked at him it barely seemed to register. “Are you done here?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” the Dragonborn mumbled.

They watched the other man walk through the mead hall, seemingly lost in thought, and Vilkas felt a swell of protective irritation when the Dragonborn said nothing to Farkas. He then paused at the doors, and Vilkas felt a twinge of shock as the Dragonborn pulled off his helmet and rubbed his face and eyes quickly then put the helmet back on. All they could see was the back of his head, close-shaven, fair-skinned, so pale it was as if it never saw the sun. Vilkas supposed maybe it hadn’t for the last three years.

The Dragonborn turned and looked at Farkas then waved him over, and the Companion grinned and leapt up from his seat. Vilkas warned, “You had better take care of my brother, Dragonborn.”

“As if he were my own,” the man vowed. When Farkas joined him he slapped the big warrior on the back and then they were gone.

Vilkas huffed, worried, but Farkas was right: he was a grown man, able to make his own decisions, up to a point. He was only going up to look at a trapped dragon, not fight one. The twins desperately wanted to take one on, someday, but that was not likely to ever happen. The creatures seemed to either stick close to their lairs, guarding their word walls, or were drawn to the Dragonborn, who usually dispatched the creatures well enough on his own.

As he got up and headed downstairs Vilkas couldn’t help being a little envious of Farkas. It had been… All right, it had been _kind_ of the Dragonborn to offer to take Farkas up to the palace to see the beast. Fine, it had been kind. Vilkas still didn’t like him. He had cost too many people too much. Balgruuf had not only been a good Jarl, he had been a friend, and so had Hrongar, and so had Lydia, one that Vilkas at times had hoped could one day be more. Vignar was an old fool, with no children of his own, in his early seventies, and who was going to rule Whiterun after him? Eorlund had no interest, and his son Avulstein was following him in his trade while Thorald was still a Stormcloak soldier, neither of them suited to the task of ruling; Olfina seemed to have no interest in the responsibility either. Skyrim was at peace now, but for how long? The Battle of Solitude had been less than a week ago, the Dragonborn hurrying straight from there to Dragonsreach, to find a way to finish off Alduin once and for all. As if you could finish off the God of Destruction. What a joke.

He found Kodlak’s quarters partially open, and he knocked on one of the doors and quietly asked, “Is everything all right, Harbinger?” Kodlak didn’t answer right away. “Master?”

“I would like to be alone for a while, Vilkas,” he answered in a rough voice. “Close the doors. Please.”

“Aye.” He resisted the urge to peek in, feeling a surge of fresh anger toward the Dragonborn for having obviously upset Kodlak. He heard a hacking cough behind the doors and it made him clench his fists in fury. If the Dragonborn tried coming back here he was going to get his head knocked in. Vilkas hadn’t been bested in a fight in more years than he could count, and he was more than capable of kicking the Dragonborn’s ass, as long as the little shit didn’t cheat and use the thu’um or magic. Vilkas hoped that once the man was done with whatever the hell he was doing in Whiterun that he would take himself back to Windhelm and Ulfric’s court and stay there.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An extra chapter, because it's the holidays!

** Farkas – 18th of Frostfall, 4E204 **

“Come on girl,” Kodlak demanded, lifting his shield again. “You’re going to have to do better than that.” Ria’s lips pressed together in a flat line then she let out what might have been a war cry and took another swing, her sword ringing off the steel. “Better. Again.”

Farkas and Skjor glanced at each other and the old warrior snorted then quietly said, “She’s got spunk, gotta give her that.” The newest member of the Companions, the apothecary Arcadia’s niece, had promise, though she wasn’t the kind of material their guild was used to working with. Farkas thought she was kind of cute though, especially the way she squealed when she took a swing. Not particularly interesting, but cute, in a little sister sort of way.

Farkas nodded and agreed, “Yeah, she’s…eh… What is that?” Farkas' eyes were drawn to movement in the sky then he shot to his feet, heart pounding. Skjor followed a second later, going to the edge of the porch to stare up at the sky. “Oh _shit_ …” Farkas breathed. Dragons. Dozens of dragons, well, twenty at least, heading for the summit of the Throat of the World from all directions. He couldn’t believe the number of dragons. How could there still be so many, when the Dragonborn had been hunting them for the last three years? It was terrifying to think there were still that many around.

“What in Oblivion!” Skjor whispered fiercely. He hurried over to Kodlak with Farkas on his heels, and the older man had noticed as well, staring up at the massive mountain with his jaw clenched. They could hear cries of panic from the city and the shouts of guards, but there didn’t seem to be any immediate danger. Skjor gripped Kodlak’s shoulder and murmured something softly to him, and Kodlak shook his head and briefly put his hand over his friend’s.

Farkas barely noticed, too absorbed in watching the dragons converge on the mountain. So many dragons! The memory of seeing a real live dragon up close only two days ago was the highlight of his life, right up there with joining the Circle. The beast had been immense, though Farkas couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for it, trapped like that and groaning in discomfort, every so often letting out a bellow of helpless rage. And it had _talked_. Like a person, in a voice that had shaken the timbers of Dragonsreach, and the Dragonborn had responded in kind, his voice just as large. They had argued back and forth about something for several minutes in a tongue Farkas couldn’t follow, that no one could follow, then the Dragonborn had casually ordered the guards to let the dragon go.

He shivered and rubbed his arms in the cool, late fall air, wondering if the red dragon was one of the ones flying towards the mountain. He could see all different colors, but none of them were red. They got smaller and smaller then disappeared from sight as they reached the cloudy peak, but he could hear the distant rumble of thunder every so often and knew it was them. He wondered what on Nirn they were up to. The Dragonborn had said nothing about this happening. The man had seemed distracted before he left, sad even. Farkas couldn’t blame him; after the guy had mounted the dragon and flown off—he’d ridden the dragon like a horse!—Jarl Vignar had gruffly told Farkas that the Dragonborn was bound for Sovngarde. Farkas hadn’t wanted to believe it, but everyone else seemed to, so he supposed he had to as well.

Vilkas had scoffed at the notion when Farkas had returned to tell him all about it. His brainy twin had started rambling about Sovngarde and the Hall of Valor being nothing but a metaphor or some crap like that, with his big fancy words and his always trying to prove he was the smartest person in the room. Vilkas always had to prove that he was the best at everything. Well he sure was best at aggravating people. Kodlak had actually yelled at him that night, when he kept pressing the old man about what the Dragonborn had talked to him about. Vilkas had left in a huff, riding off to Eastmarch on a job that had been meant for Farkas and Athis, and he'd ridden off alone at that, something no Companion was supposed to do unless it was an emergency. Farkas was fairly irritated by that, and Athis had made some very pointed remarks about Vilkas’ womanly cycle and how maybe he should see an alchemist about it, something that had sent Ria into hysterics and made even Aela chuckle in amusement. Of course the remark had been made once Vilkas was halfway to the stables.

Worried about his brother, Farkas moved up next to Kodlak, seeing the old man still staring at the mountain along with Skjor. Both old men were staring up at the Throat of the World, seeming to be waiting, for…something, gods knew what.

Farkas opened his mouth and took a breath to ask when suddenly the world shook.

_“ALDUIN LOS MAHLAAN!”_

Ria jumped and gasped as the men flinched, and when thunder rolled and the world beneath their feet trembled she moved close to Farkas with a whimper. He put his arm around her and she clung to him. “It’s okay, little sister,” he soothed.

“Is it? Really?” she replied fearfully.

_“ALDUIN LOS MAHLAAN!”_

“I don’t know,” he admitted. He had no idea what _mahlaan_ meant. Was Alduin dead, or was he victorious, which meant the Dragonborn was dead?

_“ALDUIN LOS MAHLAAN!”_

The thunder died away and a distant, high-pitched keening took its place. Farkas saw Kodlak flinch as if struck, and when the keening grew to screams of horror the Harbinger seemed to fold in on himself, his eyes wide and haunted. Skjor tried to lead him away and Kodlak resisted, unable to move while the shrieking echoed across Skyrim, seeming to tear the world apart. Farkas hugged little Ria to him, glad to have someone to hold onto, unable to help shuddering as the ground beneath his feet trembled. The screaming was human, and there was only one human in the world whose voice was loud enough to be heard like that, and the realization made tears sting his eyes. _Dragonborn._ The Dragonborn had returned from Sovngarde and was screaming himself hoarse at the Throat of the World as if he was dying, or wished he was.

_“DOVAHKIIN!”_

The world shook again and the screams finally tapered off and Farkas risked a glance at his Harbinger. The old man was trembling, staring blankly at nothing. That last shout had been human too, the combined voices of the Greybeards. Maybe they would be able to help the Dragonborn with…whatever was wrong. Because something was very, very wrong. Farkas had heard people scream like that before, when they got a limb hacked off, but the screams were short-lived because he was the one doing the hacking and he killed them right afterward. He hated seeing people suffer, even if they were bandits. He’d heard screams like that too when he had come across people being tortured. Those were the screams that really haunted him for days afterwards. This…this was going to haunt him. And it looked like it was going to haunt Kodlak too.

“Come on, old friend,” Skjor whispered. Kodlak still resisted. “Farkas, your help.”

Farkas let go of Ria to move to Kodlak’s side, taking the old man’s arm and gently pulling him away. The Harbinger let out a choked sound of grief and let himself get led inside Jorrvaskr. The entire city was quiet, even Eorlund’s and Avulstein’s never-ending hammering at the Skyforge silent.

“I…” Kodlak began as they seated him at the bench inside the doors, then he fell into a coughing fit, clutching at his chest. “I must go to High Hrothgar,” he gasped.

Skjor squatted at his side and grabbed his knee, saying quietly, “You’d never make the climb, brother, you know that.”

“Ivarstead then. To keep watch. If…when he comes down.”

Farkas spoke up then, asking, “Should someone go tell Ulfric?”

“Ulfric will know,” Skjor stated, his tone curt. “I’m sure he keeps very close tabs on his greatest asset.”

“But Ulfric could go up there.”

Skjor made a sound of contempt. “High Hrothgar is the last place he wants to go.”

“Oh. Right.” Farkas had forgotten that Ulfric had trained to be a Greybeard as a boy, and had quit the training to join the Legion and fight in the Great War. The Greybeards probably wouldn’t let him back in the front door.

“Go get Kodlak’s war hammer. I’m taking him to Ivarstead.”

“Want me to go with you?”

Skjor rolled his one good eye. “Want me to kick you in the ass? We’ll be fine.”

“Sorry. You're right.” The offer had mostly been for Farkas’ sake. He knew the old men were more than capable; Skjor still regularly went on jobs, was still the best of the Companions, and except for an occasional coughing spell Kodlak was still hale. That cough though would get aggravated by the cold and the exertion of climbing the Seven Hundred Steps or Seven Thousand or however the hell many there were. Farkas had offered to go mostly because he wanted to see the Dragonborn again. Wanted to help him if he could. The guy had been so kind to him, without even a hint of the patronizing tone most people used on him.

He went to the Harbinger’s quarters to fetch Kodlak’s war hammer, hearing Skjor go to his own quarters to ready for the journey. Farkas entered Kodlak’s bedroom and glanced around for the hammer. It was propped up between his bed and the nightstand, and when Farkas picked it up it jostled the small table, making an empty mug fall to the floor. He sighed and bent down to pick it up, then he saw something else had fallen off the table along with it. He picked up the old brass disk and looked at it in confusion. It was worn, as if fingers had rubbed it obsessively over decades. There was a loop at the top, leading him to believe it was a pendant, and when he turned it over he saw he was right. It was inset with a mosaic of turquoise, several of the pieces missing, and at the center was a looped design in brass. A lover’s knot. He frowned and set the pendant back on the side table. He couldn’t recall ever seeing anything like it, and never in Kodlak’s quarters.

He shrugged to himself and left with the hammer, closing the door behind him. Being nosy never paid. Vilkas still didn’t seem to have learned that lesson. Farkas hoped his twin’s temper had cooled by time he returned to Whiterun. He didn’t want to see any more ugly confrontations between his brother and his Harbinger. The job would take Vilkas a while, and by time he finished it, picked up the bounty from Ulfric’s steward, and returned home maybe Kodlak would be back as well. And maybe, just maybe everything would go back to some kind of normal.

** Vilkas – 21st of Frostfall, 4E204 **

_I hate this place,_ Vilkas thought sourly as he stomped the snow off his boots and shook it out of his heavy fur cloak before entering the Palace of the Kings. The snow never entirely melted here, and the city was gray and dour, like a prison, as if the high stone walls were meant more to keep the people in than anything out. The job to clear out Uttering Hills Cave had been routine, though a bit of a challenge to do alone. Not anything he couldn’t handle though. It had given him a chance to get out of Jorrvaskr for a while. Cool off. And more importantly let Kodlak cool off.

The old man had definitely taken him by surprise with his heated reaction to Vilkas’ questions, and in hindsight Vilkas could see where he had gone wrong. Unfortunately such revelations were usually in hindsight. Farkas had told him to leave the matter alone and as usual Vilkas hadn’t listened. His brother wasn’t the smartest man, but he certainly had more common sense than Vilkas ever had. Kodlak had bellowed at Vilkas to mind his own goddamn business and leave him the hell alone. That had hurt. What had hurt worse was that Skjor had come along while Vilkas was preparing to leave, and Kodlak had taken him into his quarters and shut the door, probably telling him everything. He knew Skjor and Kodlak were closer than brothers. He knew that, but it still hurt.

He walked up the right side of the hall, seeing Ulfric in the war room with Galmar Stone-Fist and another Stormcloak officer, Yrsarald perhaps, bent over a table discussing something in low, intent voices. Probably war. Always war. _Evgir unslaad,_ old Bergitte Battle-Born called it, in the ancient tongue that no one remembered more than bits and pieces of. Oh, except the Dragonborn of course. Farkas had gone on and on about how the Dragonborn had held a full-blown conversation with that dragon on the Great Porch, before mounting it like a pony and gallivanting off into the sunset. Maybe the others had found his tale fascinating but Vilkas had no patience for it. The Dragonborn had simply waltzed into Whiterun and stirred things up then waltzed out again, leaving turmoil in his wake, just as he did everywhere he went.

Jorleif saw Vilkas coming and smiled broadly at him, smoothing down his ridiculously large moustache as he called out, “Hail Companion! I take it Uttering Hills is cleaned out?”

Vilkas smiled briefly at him and nodded. “Aye. No trouble at all.”

“Ah, good news.” When Vilkas neared him he fished out a bag of coin from his belt pouch and tossed it to him. The Companion deftly caught it and tucked it into his own belt.

“My thanks. Any other jobs to be had?”

“No, not at this time. Though maybe…” He glanced over to the war room. “Maybe your business might pick up after this,” he finished more quietly.

“Good. No offense, but the last few years have been lean, for obvious reasons.”

Jorleif cleared his throat, uncomfortable. “Well, yeah, that.”

Vilkas saw Ulfric straighten up from the table and rub his eyes, looking stressed. “Tell me we aren’t still at war,” the Companion muttered.

“No, no. Skyrim has no more stomach for bloodshed, and neither does the Empire. The Imperials who are left are being allowed to go peacefully. Ulfric knows every soldier will be needed against the elves. He doesn’t want to see Cyrodiil fall any more than the Emperor does. Once he’s crowned he’ll sign treaties with the Empire, but they will need to—” He cut off with a gasp as one of the great bronze doors of the palace was flung open, with enough force to nearly take it off its hinges. The cold came howling in, the snow parting around the figure standing in the doorway, dark and ominous, its fists clenched.

_“ULFRIC!”_

The roar made Vilkas take a step back in fear, nearly knocking over Jorleif. The Dragonborn came limping into the main hall, his Daedric armor so heavily damaged that it looked barely functional, dented, pierced and even melted in spots. He no longer had the helmet but wore a hooded mask of ebony. He was armed this time, with a steel Akaviri katana that crawled with purple magic strapped to his back.

The Jarl came running out of the war room, Galmar and Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced on his heels, the two warriors reaching for their weapons. As the Dragonborn limped toward Ulfric, Jorleif whispered urgently to Vilkas, “If the Dragonborn attacks, I need you to defend Ulfric.”

“What’s in it for me?” Vilkas countered. Jorleif looked at him in disgust. “You want me to risk my damn life for a man who has done nothing for me, out of the goodness of my heart? I grew up with Balgruuf!”

“Name your price, just protect your future king!”

“Fine, if it comes to that. Five thousand gold.” Jorleif nodded, muttering something under his breath about cold-blooded mercenaries.

Well, that was exactly what Vilkas was, and he wasn’t going to pretend otherwise, and never had. There was also the glaring fact that defeating the Dragonborn in combat would be nearly impossible. The only advantage he might have would be the man's obvious injuries, and even with those the fiend had managed to throw a massive door nearly off its hinges.

“You lied to me!” the Dragonborn shouted in a rough voice, the stone walls vibrating with it. His voice broke as he screamed, _“YOU FUCKING LIED TO ME!”_

Ulfric said in a shaking voice, “I did what I had to, Stormblade—”

“I don’t want any of your shitty titles! He’s dead, you lying asshole! I saw him in Sovngarde!”

Ulfric’s eyes closed for a moment as he whispered, “I’m sorry. I know and I’m sorry.”

 _“SORRY?!”_ he shrieked. “Ralof’s dead and you’re _sorry?!_ ”

“I know you two were very close—”

The Dragonborn put his hands to his head and cried, “Close? He was _MY HUSBAND!”_

“Ah shit,” Jorleif whispered in a choked voice.

Vilkas couldn’t help feeling a surprising surge of pity and sympathy for the man. No one had ever mentioned that the Dragonborn had been married. Not even a whisper. The name Ralof sounded familiar, though Vilkas couldn’t place it at the moment. What a way to find out your spouse was dead. It was troubling though…the Dragonborn spoke as if he had actually gone to Sovngarde. Like it was a real place. Surely that wasn’t possible?

“Over three years we’ve been married, you bastard!” the Dragonborn cried, his voice breaking again. “Since right after Korvanjund!”

Ulfric exclaimed in shock, “Neither of you said a word about it! If you had told me I would have kept him out of the fighting!”

“That’s why we didn’t tell you, he begged me to not tell you!” His fists clenched and unclenched as he paced the hall, and Galmar and Yrsarald watched him intently on either side of Ulfric, their hands still ready to draw weapons. Vilkas thought neither of them stood a chance if things went bad. Vilkas probably wouldn’t stand a chance either if the crazy son of a bitch decided to shout or use magic. “I bought Hjerim for him! For us!” the Dragonborn went on in a tear-choked voice. “Everything I’ve done was for him, so I could have a life with him, a family with him, and now I have nothing!”

“I’m so sorry,” Ulfric said with grief. “Mara’s mercy, I would do anything to get him back, but I can’t.”

“You lied to me!” the Dragonborn said in a near whimper. “Me! I trusted you!”

“I did what I had to. If I’d told you he was dead you would have been distracted while—”

“You think seeing him there wasn’t a distraction?” he shouted. “He was caught in the mist with all the other Nord dead from your fucking war, thousands of them! Not just Stormcloaks, Nord Legionnaires too, all of them just as dead! I couldn’t get any of them out of the damn mist! It was all I could think about, him being dead, while I was trying to fight Alduin, and I nearly died because of it!” Ulfric looked stricken, his face pale and eyes wide. “If you’d told me he was dead I could have grieved then moved on and done my job, but no, you lied to me! You told me you sent him with a detachment back to Windhelm and I believed you! I should’ve known when you wouldn’t look me in the eye. I believed you and had to find out the hard way, and look what it cost me!”

The Dragonborn pulled off the mask and hood, and Vilkas sucked in a sharp breath of dismay as everyone else recoiled in horror. The man’s head and neck were pink and shiny, hairless, down to the lack of eyebrows and eyelashes, and the right side of his face was a congealed mess that pulled one side of his mouth into a permanent grimace, cut through with a deep, angry red scar that slashed across his nose and right eye, which was nothing but a puckered scar. It was the most horrifying thing Vilkas had ever seen, something he knew was going to plague his restless sleep for years to come. It made him want to weep for the man, a depth of pity that he had rarely had cause in his life to feel. Tears spilled down Ulfric’s cheeks as he swallowed hard, and when he moved towards the Dragonborn the other man quickly backed away.

“I should have died, damn you! My whole left side was smashed up, and I still kept fighting! His tail destroyed my helmet, and the next thing I knew my face was boiling, and I still struck the killing blow!” Ulfric nodded, his eyes shining, clutching the amulet of Talos around his neck. “I wanted to die there and Tsun wouldn’t let me. I wanted to die on the mountain and the Greybeards wouldn’t let me! I laid there for an hour in the snow willing myself to die, and I was almost there when they found me! I could have been whole and in Sovngarde with Ralof and instead I’m doomed to a lifetime of hell as a monster!” Ulfric moved towards him again and the Dragonborn screamed hoarsely and spun away, grabbing the edge of the long table and flipping it across the hall, where it crashed against the wall near Vilkas and Jorleif. “I was beautiful!” the Dragonborn cried.

“I know,” Ulfric whispered. “Gods help me, you’ll never know how sorry I am, Dovahkiin. I would trade places with you or Ralof right now if I could, believe m—”

“Believe you!” the Dragonborn spat. “I’ll never believe another fucking word out of your mouth! I am _done_ with you, do you hear me? Skyrim can burn for all I care! Let the vampires and the Thalmor burn it all!” He spun on his heel and grabbed up the mask and hood then limped out of the hall.

“Where are you going, Dragonborn?” Galmar asked warily.

“I’m going back to High Hrothgar and staying there. Never ask me to do anything ever again, and don’t even dream of asking me to come to the Moot when it happens. I’ll kill the person who comes after me, do you hear me? I don’t care who it is.”

“But the vampires!”

The Dragonborn threw his hand out behind him, pointing at Vilkas. “Get the Companions to finish it! I don’t fucking care!”

Ulfric shook his head and ran after him, and Vilkas moved closer, ready to step in if it turned ugly. It was tempting to let the Dragonborn take out Stormcloak, but Vilkas knew if that happened the civil war would start up again, and no one wanted that.

“Dovahkiin, wait,” Ulfric pleaded. “We’ll find you a healer—”

“I’m already healed, damn it!” the man cried. Ulfric caught up to him, daring to touch his shoulder, and the Dragonborn hit his hand away. “The wounds had set too long by time the Greybeards found me. There’s no way to fix this! I’m in pain all the time!”

“Locking yourself away in a monastery won’t help. You won’t be content there any more than I was.”

“Content? Where the hell am I going to be content!” He pulled the mask and hood on, making sounds of discomfort that made Ulfric grimace.

“And what of your mother?”

“Iona can keep taking care of the daft woman. You think I’m going to let her see what I’ve turned into? She’d lose what little mind she has.” He turned and limped away from Ulfric. “All I wanted was to get this over with so I could live a normal life with Ralof and not have to hide anymore, and now I’m going to spend the rest of my life hiding. He was my _life,_ do you get that?” He suddenly stopped and turned, and he clenched his fists as he asked brokenly, “Where is his body?”

“Riverwood,” Ulfric mumbled, fresh tears running down his face. “He wanted to be taken home to Riverwood.”

The Dragonborn shuddered and turned away, and Vilkas watched him go, feeling an unfamiliar ache in his heart. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have feelings; he was just picky about who he allowed close enough to make him feel anything tender. The Dragonborn was too tragic to not feel for, no matter how irritating the man had been in Jorrvaskr. A dead husband, a deformed face, constant pain… Well, now Vilkas knew where he had heard the name Ralof before. He was the young man whose sister ran the lumber mill. Folk from Riverwood often came into Whiterun to trade, and the Companions passed through Riverwood often, so Vilkas was familiar with Gerdur and her husband Hod. And their spoiled prankster brat Frodnar and his mangy hound.

“Companion.” Vilkas looked away from the Dragonborn limping out the still-open door of the palace. Galmar came up to him and asked, “Can the Companions do it?”

“Do what?” he whispered, clearing his throat when his voice came out in a croak.

“Deal with vampires.”

Vilkas shrugged. “Depends. Deal how? We can kill them, sure.”

Ulfric rubbed his face and wearily said as he joined them, “The Companions cannot do it, Galmar.”

“Why not?” Vilkas asked. “We've fought vampires many times before.” He detested the creatures. Most folk did, but the Circle held a special distaste for them. Their dens were horrifying, reeking of old blood and rot, and the vampires themselves didn’t smell much better.

“Can you read an Elder Scroll?” Vilkas’ nose wrinkled; he wasn’t about to dignify that with an answer. Of course he couldn’t read an Elder Scroll. Ulfric sighed then sniffed, looking deeply troubled. “The Dragonborn is the only one who can do it. It isn’t as simple as finding a nest of vampires and wiping it out.” He looked at Galmar and went on, “Stormblade found this out right before Solitude, old friend. I was too preoccupied with other matters to tell you. The vampires are looking for some artifact that will help them blot out the sun. The only way to find it is to gather three specific Elder Scrolls and read them. The Dragonborn is the only being who can do it without going mad or blind.”

Galmar grunted then muttered, “Give the lad time. It was a heavy loss. Shor’s bones, to see his man in Sovngarde... I wish the damn boys had told us. I knew they traveled and bunked together from time to time but…”

Ulfric’s eyes closed for a moment, then they opened as he said to Vilkas, “Since you are returning to Whiterun… Could you take a letter to the Temple of Kynareth for me? To Danica Pure-Spring. There is no greater healer in all of Skyrim. Perhaps she can do something for him.”

“Aye my lord, I can do that,” Vilkas agreed. He wouldn’t even charge for the service. He wasn’t completely heartless, and it was right by Jorrvaskr.

Galmar said to Ulfric, “His sense of duty won’t let him stay up there forever, Ulfric. He’s suffering now, but eventually he’ll come back down. If nothing else, he’ll leave when they run out of mead. The lad likes his drink.”

Ulfric nodded, still looking deeply saddened. The Jarl then said to Vilkas, “We may have some work for the Companions in the meantime. Stormblade was working with a former Vigilant of Stendarr, Isran, on the vampire problem. I will notify him to send some work your way. Taking out vampire nests, fetching items…things of that nature, nothing too esoteric. You will be paid well for it.”

Vilkas said with a nod, “We can manage that, my lord.” The work would be welcome, an interesting change of pace from fetching stolen heirlooms and kidnap victims. They had all heard of the Dawnguard, and while it was worrisome that so many of their number were former Vigilants and wouldn't hesitate to wipe out the Circle if they knew what they were, there was no reason for them to know.

Ulfric turned back to Galmar. “Give Stormblade a month at High Hrothgar. Then I want a letter taken up there with the monthly supply drop. I won’t have him pressured into coming down, but I am not about to let him spend the rest of his life as a priest. The Dragonborn was never meant for that. Let him find whatever peace he can up there for now.” The old housecarl grunted in acknowledgment.

Vilkas bowed slightly to Ulfric and said, “I will take my leave then, Jarl Ulfric. I am staying at the inn, if you would have the letter dropped off there before I leave in the morning.” The older man nodded. Vilkas turned away, then he stopped himself and turned back. “Alduin is dead though…right?”

“Aye. Did you not hear the dragons four nights ago?”

“No, I was inside the cave at the time. I thought it only thunder.”

 _“Alduin los mahlaan,_ they said…Alduin is fallen.” Ulfric made a sound of grief and murmured, “Even as horribly wounded as he was, he still managed to bring down a demi-god. Have you ever seen him fight, Companion?” Vilkas shook his head. “He is a force of nature, the very breath of Kyne. At Solitude the Empire threw everything they had left at us, wave upon wave of soldiers, and he took hardly a scratch. And now…now he is crippled, as if every injury he avoided in life was dumped on him all at once.”

“Your dinner table and your front door might disagree.”

Ulfric shook his head. “I have seen it before, in wartime. Wounds left too long without magical healing. They never heal quite right, and leave permanent scars.” He touched his left cheek. “Case in point.”

“Danica may know something that can help. I have seen her bring people back from the brink of death. Perhaps she knows of some way to at least lessen his pain.”

“One can only hope.”

The Jarl slapped Vilkas on the shoulder then walked away, and Vilkas sighed softly to himself and went out the open door, where snow was piling up as the guards frantically tried to right it so they could get it closed. Farkas would be saddened to hear of what had happened to his new friend. The big oaf was so amiable that the smallest kindnesses meant too much to him. And Kodlak…Kodlak would be undoubtedly upset to hear of this. The new influx of work would be welcome, but the cost was high.

It was a shame, but what exactly did the Dragonborn think was going to happen, facing the God of Destruction? Vilkas was well-versed in Nord myths, and while he had always taken most of them for exactly that, myths, there was no denying that dragons now existed where they hadn’t before Alduin appeared. There was no denying Helgen, which Vilkas had seen for himself not long after it happened. He could smell the charred bodies from miles away. And now the poor Dragonborn was a walking charred body. It was tragic, and Vilkas could only hope that he was blessed with a rare good night tonight so that ruined face didn’t scream its way through his dreams.

He made his way to Candlehearth Hall, glad for the warmth inside. Whiterun in the depths of winter wasn’t as cold as a good day in Windhelm, and this was only fall. He took a seat at the bar and slid his pack off his back, and when Elda the innkeeper asked what his pleasure was he said, “I don’t care at this point as long as it’s hot.”

“Horker stew it is, then.”

“Fine by me. And an ale.”

“Aye Companion, coming right up.”

As she bent down to get a bowl from under the counter, he asked, “Does Susanna still work here?" He saw the older woman freeze for a moment, and when she stood back up it was slowly, a deep frown on her face.

“It’s ah…been a while since you were in last?”

“A year or more, why?”

“She was killed about nine, ten months ago.”

Stricken, Vilkas murmured, “I’m sorry, I had no idea. How did it happen?”

“There was a killer in town. Calixto Corrium.”

He frowned in confusion. “The man who owned the curiosity museum with his sister?” Vilkas had never gone inside, but of course his gullible twin had done so a few years ago, and had come home all atwitter about seeing Ysgramor’s Soup Spoon, which had actually been a fork, and Vilkas had had to break it to him that he’d been had, that not even Ysgramor could eat soup with a fork, that probably none of the items in the ‘museum’ had been what Calixto claimed them to be. Farkas had not been at all happy about that, and it had been all Vilkas and the others could do to keep Farkas from turning right back around and returning to Windhelm to pound the charlatan into the ground. It had been kind of funny, actually. It never ceased to amaze Vilkas the things that Farkas fell for. It was kind of cute at times, if one could find a man who was six foot six and two hundred fifty pounds cute.

“Yes, well, the sister died about a year ago. Slipped on the ice and cracked her head open like an egg, I tell you. The man never quite recovered from it, and if you ask me…” She leaned in close and added in a loud whisper, “There was something _unnatural_ going on there, if you get my meaning. I bet there’s a lot more of that going on among Imperials than anyone realizes.” Vilkas grunted, a look of distaste on his face. She raised her voice and went on, “Anyway, Susanna was the first. Seems the maniac was trying to build a new body for his sister, can you imagine? He was a damn necromancer and no one knew it. The crazy bastard got two more girls before the Dragonborn got back into town to clean up the mess, with the guards stretched thin as they were. Course one of the victims was an elf, so no great loss there, but I miss Susanna. She was a good girl.”

“Aye, that she was,” Vilkas said quietly. Elda went about fixing his dinner while he nursed a mug of ale, his mood even lower than before. Susanna _had_ been a good girl, quick to flirt but just as quick to slap your hand if you got too grabby with her. He never had figured out why she was called ‘the Wicked’. She certainly wasn’t easy, not that Nords cared all that much about that sort of thing. A woman’s affections, or a man’s, were hers or his to share or not as they pleased. It was a shame about Susanna. She had been good company, and lovely too.

_I was beautiful!_

The Dragonborn’s despairing cry rang out in Vilkas’ head, making him shudder. He nodded in thanks to Elda as she placed a steaming bowl of stew in front of him, along with a thick slab of that morning’s bread, spread generously with butter and honey. He wondered if the Dragonborn was even now trudging south through the snow, on his way back to High Hrothgar. He wondered how the hell the man had managed to limp his way down the Seven Thousand Steps. One painful step at a time, he supposed, and going up would be twice as hard. Well, if the Dragonborn had anything it was willpower. Vilkas wouldn’t have been able to drag himself to his feet and fight a dragon with the horrendous injuries the man had claimed.

_He was my husband!_

Vilkas grumbled and rubbed his eyes, his war paint already a hopeless mess. He wondered if the Dragonborn had really considered the future when he had gone and married another man. It wasn’t unheard of, but it seemed the Dragonborn had some sort of responsibility to produce children of his own blood, if the trait was hereditary as some claimed, though Vilkas had his doubts. Having a Dragonborn bloodline in the world again would be sure to keep the elves in their place, since it had all started to fall apart after the last Septim died. Some whispered that this Dragonborn was the Last, with a capital L, that Akatosh would not grace Man with the blood and soul of a dragon ever again. If so, that made it doubly important that he marry a woman and have children.

Vilkas supposed that the Dragonborn might be one of those men who just didn’t like women at all. Severio Pelagia had been one of those men. The handsome Colovian had women all over Whiterun hold crying that he wouldn’t give them the time of day, and then they’d wept when he’d died in the attack on Whiterun three years ago. Vilkas couldn’t understand not liking women. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t dallied with other men in the past, the same as Farkas, but when a man got to be a certain age he wanted a family, a wife and children. It was the natural order of things. He and Farkas were running a little late in that regard at forty, forty-one in a couple months, but they just hadn’t found the right opportunity yet. They had agreed when they were younger to marry together, buy a farm or run a business together with their wives, or wife, raise their children together. They had always been together, and always would be.

When he finished his meal and Elda showed him to his room, he asked, “Is there any chance of buying a bath?”

“Oh, I think I can manage that,” Elda said with a nod. “Business is slow tonight. Five septims and it’s yours.”

“Deal.”

“I’ll go get it started for you.”

Half an hour later he was sinking into a bath that wasn’t quite as hot as he liked but more than adequate. It was one thing to go to sleep dirty when you were on the road, but he refused to get into a clean bed filthy. He washed quickly then sat there relaxing in the small stone tub. He leaned his head back on the edge and closed his eyes. It became apparent that was a mistake when the gruesome image of the Dragonborn’s mess of a face danced across the back of his eyelids.

He shuddered and opened his eyes, staring at the wooden wall in front of him, feeling ill. He knew Danica wouldn’t be able to help the man. She was the best healer anyone had ever seen, blessed by Kynareth, and had saved a Companion’s life on more than one occasion, but she wasn’t a miracle worker, though close to it. The twins had grown up with her as well, though she was a few years older, and they considered her a friend, and what was more she knew the secret of the Circle, so there was no one more trustworthy than her. He would make sure he delivered the letter first thing, and would go one bit extra and describe the Dragonborn’s injuries to her in some effort to help, even if it ended up being futile. Like it or not, if what the man had said about Sovngarde was true then everyone owed him. And there were still the vampires to be dealt with. Vilkas would have to make sure that the whelps started carrying extra potions with them for curing disease. It wouldn’t do to have to put down a shield-brother or -sister over something preventable.

** Farkas – 23rd of Frostfall, 4E204 **

Hearing heavy feet and the opening of his brother’s door, Farkas hurried out of his own room. With relief he saw Vilkas set down his pack and start stripping off his armor, looking tired but undamaged in any way. Vilkas turned and gave him a nod, and Farkas patted him on the back then started helping him out of his armor, though he didn’t really need the help. It was just what they did sometimes. Farkas asked, “So did you hear all that? While you were gone?”

Vilkas shook his head and murmured, “No. I was inside Uttering Hills Cave when the dragons called out.”

“So you didn’t hear…uh, the rest of it?” His twin frowned and shook his head again. “The uh, screaming. The Greybeards calling him.”

“I…no. Ulfric told me about the dragons, and that Alduin is dead.” He sighed heavily. “I was in Windhelm when he came. The Dragonborn. He stormed into the Palace of Kings and began shouting at Ulfric. Well, yelling at him rather.”

“Why?” Vilkas grimaced, looking troubled. Troubled wasn’t his brother’s thing. Vilkas went through life with a certainty that Farkas often envied, though the arrogance and temper that went along with it weren’t anything he wanted a part of.

“He saw his husband in Sovngarde. He was married to Ralof, the brother of the woman who owns the Riverwood lumber mill. No one knew they were married, but Ralof died in the Battle of Solitude and Ulfric didn’t tell him. Ulfric hurried him off to fight Alduin and didn’t want him distracted by his lover’s death, thinking that was all they were. The Jarl clearly did not think it through. The Dragonborn was going to Sovngarde after all.” Farkas looked stricken and Vilkas sighed heavily. “It gets worse.” Farkas waited, his brow crinkled with worry, his stomach churning. “He was so upset about seeing Ralof there that he was nearly killed fighting Alduin. The dragon smashed up his left side, then it struck his helmet off and…ugh. It was terrible, truly terrible. His face is ruined, and he has no hair. It was all burned off, his whole head was…” He rubbed his face. “I keep seeing it in my dreams, and the things he said…”

“What…what did he say?” Farkas whispered past the lump in his throat. He was having trouble picturing just what Vilkas was describing, and he couldn’t be sorry for it. His heart bled for the Dragonborn. It was so unfair. After everything he had done for Skyrim, and Ulfric, and this happens to him? As if it wasn’t bad enough to lose his husband, he had to lose his face too?

“That he used to be beautiful, and Ulfric said that yes, he knew that. He said he was in pain all the time. He was limping heavily, on the left side. He said that he came back on top of the Throat of the World and laid there willing himself to die, and he nearly did before the Greybeards found and healed him, but the wounds were set by then. They saved his life but couldn’t keep him from becoming disfigured.” He tossed his cuirass on the bed and said, “So the screaming. It was him.” He added quietly, “His voice was rough, as if his vocal cords had been damaged.”

“Yeah. It was…it was the worst thing I’ve ever heard.” And knowing all this, maybe it hadn’t just been physical pain the Dragonborn had been screaming from. “I had no idea he was married.” Or liked men. Farkas supposed there was no reason he couldn’t; there had never been any rumors that the guy had taken up anyone on their offers of company, male or female. Probably because he had been married.

“He said they had been married for three years. I got the impression that they were rarely able to spend time together. He was looking forward to not going around masked, to living a normal life with his husband, and now he never can with a face like that, and he’s a widower. He said he was returning to High Hrothgar and never coming back. It…is tragic.” Vilkas bit at his lips then said in a wary tone, “The old man won’t be happy to hear all this.”

“I’m sure he already knows. He’s in Ivarstead.”

“Ivarstead! Why?”

“To see the Dragonborn. We were all outside when it happened. Kodlak went white as snow when he heard the screaming. He wanted to go to High Hrothgar but Skjor said he wouldn’t make the climb, so he took the old man to Ivarstead. I’m sure he saw the Dragonborn when he came down from High Hrothgar, or when he went back.”

Vilkas frowned deeply and asked in a halting tone, “But…why? I don’t get the Harbinger’s interest in all this.”

“Me neither, unless maybe the Dragonborn said he was going to join us.” Vilkas sneered at that, his sympathy going only so far. Farkas added, “Well think about it. If people knew the Dragonborn was a Companion we would get more jobs.”

“We _will_ be getting more jobs. Ulfric and his housecarl said the Dawnguard would be sending work our way, with the Dragonborn out of commission. There are matters there beyond our ability to deal with, but we can deal with the rest. When Kodlak and Skjor return, one of us will take a couple of the whelps and see what this Isran fellow has to say. He is a former Vigilant of Stendarr.”

Farkas said with worry, “What if he can tell what we are? We could end up exposing the Circle.”

Vilkas shrugged. “I have come across Vigilants before in my travels and they have never acted suspicious.” He pulled off his boots and added, “I think they would have more of a problem with the Dragonborn and that Daedric armor of his. They have no tolerance for Daedric artifacts.” He made a huffing sound. “Though perhaps that will cease to be a problem, since the Dragonborn’s armor was practically ruined. I don’t know how the man lived. His injuries were horrific, and he said he still managed to kill Alduin even after that.” Vilkas shuddered and went on, “He was so furious with Ulfric’s deception that Jorleif feared he would try to kill the Jarl. He picked up that long feasting table and threw it across the room. The entire encounter was…monstrous.”

The twins were silent for a few minutes as Vilkas continued to strip off his armor and the layers beneath it. Farkas finally ventured, “I wonder if Kodlak and Skjor waited around Ivarstead for the Dragonborn.”

“Maybe so.” Vilkas grumbled, “It annoys me that he confided in Skjor but refused to even discuss any of it with me. It’s as if he doesn’t trust me.”

“Of course he trusts you. Everyone does. I wouldn’t take it personally, brother. The old man’s been kind of rattled since finding out he’s sick. Everything has been unsettled the last few years with the war and dragons and everything. Maybe now that the war is over and Alduin gone everything will calm down.”

“Excuse me, but the vampires? They are no trivial matter. The creatures burned down the Hall of the Vigilant and slaughtered everyone inside.”

“Yeah, I know, but we can kill vampires. I’ve killed lots of them.” He hated vampires. Despised them. The entire Circle did. Farkas usually took a live-and-let-live approach to most things, but not vampires.

“So have I, but there is more to it than that. The Dragonborn is supposed to read three Elder Scrolls to find something for the Dawnguard, some artifact or something. I don’t know about you, but I cannot read even one.”

“You know I can’t read,” Farkas said resentfully.

Vilkas slapped his hand to his face and said in annoyance, “That isn’t what I meant! If a normal person reads an Elder Scroll they will go blind or lose their mind. The Dragonborn has to do it.”

“Oh.” As his twin went to find clean clothes to wear, Farkas asked, “Want to go on a hunt tonight? Weather looks like it will hold up.” He could use the distraction. All this Dragonborn business was depressing. Upsetting. He wasn’t sure now whether he was glad or not that he had never seen the man’s face. If the guy had been handsome… Well, it didn’t bear thinking about.

“Yeah, sure. Not too far though, with Kodlak and Skjor away. Where is Aela?”

Farkas shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably out hunting again. Tilma wanted some rabbits for a stew.”

“Just as long as she’s back before we go out.”

“I’m sure she will be.” The lone female in the Circle preferred staying that way, alone, but if any of the males were out on a hunt at night and she was out there…well, it was better if it didn’t happen too often. It was best if it didn’t happen at all. Males were males, and she was a very independent female who didn’t take kindly to unsolicited approaches unless it was her season, and even then it was something to be treated carefully; each encounter ran the risk of a permanent mating, and that was something the Circle couldn’t allow, and something she had no interest in regardless, not just with her pack brothers but with anyone. The twins had both learned early on to not cross her, but it was hard to remember that on a hunt. The hunt was the now.

“Hello?” Farkas shook himself out of thoughts of running and rutting on the plains and met his twin’s silvery-gray eyes. “Are all the whelps out back?” Vilkas repeated.

“Yeah.”

“I want to put the new girl through her paces again tomorrow. What was her name, Ria?”

“Yeah, Arcadia’s niece.” He chuckled. “I don’t think her parents imagined her joining the Companions when they sent her up here.” He paused then added, “She’s kind of cute.”

“In the way children are cute,” Vilkas said in disinterest. “She’s tiny and talks too much. But she does have promise. If she makes it through the winter we can look at making her an official Companion. Even if the jobs are down, our numbers are low right now.”

“Work will pick up soon. I guess it’ll be kind of interesting to do stuff for the Dawnguard. Maybe the Dragonborn will get bored up on the mountain and come down some day.”

“And if he does? He’s a partial cripple. He’s still strong and has the thu’um, but he’s compromised. Any Companion with similar injuries would retire.” Vilkas gathered up his clean clothes. “I took a letter from Ulfric to Danica, asking her help, but I don’t see what she can do, and neither did she. Once a wound is healed that is the end of it. Bones can be broken and reset, but his damage is worse than that.”

Farkas nodded sadly, trusting his brother’s opinion on the matter. Vilkas read every book he could get his hand on, soaked up knowledge wherever he found it. Farkas had a fairly good memory, but then he had to; he never had been able to learn to read. He knew his alphabet and could write it, and he could sign his name to a contract, but that contract had to be read to him. His eyes scrambled up the letters and made the words nonsensical, something that had caused every tutor he’d had endless frustration. Eventually even Vilkas had given up, realizing it wasn’t anything Farkas could help or control. Farkas didn’t really care, having no interest in books anyway, but Vilkas’ love of knowledge was a good thing. Every Companion was taught a basic level of field medicine, in case they ran out of healing potions on a job, and Vilkas was a very good field medic. If he didn’t think the Dragonborn could be healed then he was probably right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kodlak and 'the rot'...my headcanon is that this is akin to cancer, as I treated it in my last story. This time it's in Kodlak's lungs. As werewolves the Circle is immune to disease, and I've always taken this to mean the communicable diseases (witbane, rockjoint, ataxia, bonebreak fever, etc.) that you can suffer from in the game and get cured at a shrine or with a potion, along with things like the common cold, the flu, and so on.
> 
> I've also tried to make magical healing not so perfectly magical. I understand why you don't see people with missing limbs in the game due to the difficulties that would cause with the body maps and all that, but with all the fogged over (i.e. missing) eyes and facial scars you see it feels as if magical healing shouldn't be the fix-all that it is in the game, so I have put some limitations on it here: wounds have to be treated with magic or potions within a certain timeframe or they 'set' and leave scars and permanent damage. Magical healing and its limitations will be an issue frequently in future chapters.
> 
> With regard to Farkas' inability to read in this story, I know I have vastly oversimplified dyslexia here, and it is not at all connected to Farkas' mental limitations, which I have made (and always will make) much milder than in the game. In the game the man can barely seem to count to potato, and I refuse to treat him that way in a story. I am very well aware that people with dyslexia tend to be very intelligent, and hope I don't cause any offense, as that is not my intent. If anyone who has dyslexia or is very familiar with it finds problems with my portrayal of it, please feel free to make me aware!


	3. Chapter 3

** Vilkas – 11th & 12th of Rain’s Hand, 4E205 **

“All right lass, are you ready for this?”

Njada’s lip curled at Vilkas and she sneered, “You going to keep calling me that?”

“Sorry lad.” She kept glaring at him, and Vilkas said in aggravation, “What do you want me to call you? Hey you…does that work?” He didn’t bother waiting for what was bound to be an irritable response. By Ysmir, the girl was a bitch. He wasn’t even certain why she had joined the Companions if she had intended to be so damn unpleasant and antisocial. Even Vilkas enjoyed spending time with his shield-siblings and didn’t constantly give off rudeness. He stood up from where they were surveying the entrance to Chillwind Depths, saying to her, “If you cannot leave your attitude back at Jorrvaskr then you can stay there with it next time.” It was silent long enough that he was certain she wasn’t going to answer.

“Aye,” she muttered.

He left it at that, resisting the urge to rub it in. It was difficult, and getting more difficult all the time. He had never had a particularly sunny disposition, but things lately had made it even harder to be pleasant. Still, he had promised Kodlak that he would stick with this, and he had.

Ever since meeting the Dragonborn, Kodlak had been restless, preoccupied, and had taken to writing in a journal, of all things. Kodlak had always been a man of action, not letters, so for him to do this was out of character. Gods knew what the old man was writing. Perhaps about that dream he’d had, that he had now seen fit to share with the entire Circle. He had dreamt of Sovngarde. The thing was, he’d had the dream weeks before the Dragonborn had shown up, weeks before Kodlak and Skjor had spent a few hours talking to the Dragonborn in Ivarstead before his return to High Hrothgar. Kodlak’s vision of Sovngarde and Tsun had matched the Dragonborn’s description of the place to a T. Knowing this had sent chills up Vilkas’ spine. Sovngarde was real.

And worst of all…the Circle had not always been werewolves.

He felt a fresh wave of betrayal and anger surge through him as they crept into the cave. Kodlak had found evidence in the Companions’ records that the Circle had not always carried the blood of the beast. The blood had only troubled the Companions for a few hundred years at the very most. A few hundred out of thousands. It was a curse, not a gift. The notion was absolutely enraging: some Harbinger at some point had made a deal with darker powers and had traded away the souls of every member of the Circle thereafter.

After telling the Circle this, Kodlak had suggested that they give up their transformations, of all things. Give up the hunt. Give up the peace that the now of beast thought brought to them. Aela and Skjor had looked at Kodlak like the old man was out of his mind. The beast ran strong in both of them, and neither saw any reason to fear going to the Hunting Grounds. Why not enjoy an eternity running down prey? Vilkas though agreed with Kodlak that it was not for everyone, and that the price they would end up paying would be higher than any of them could possibly guess until it was too late and death was staring them in the face. He knew his mythic histories, and in such bargains the mortal was always the one who came out on the raw end of the deal.

He had enjoyed being a werewolf, no doubt about it. Some of his warmest memories were hunting with his twin on the plains of Whiterun, feasting on a fresh kill then returning to human form and flopping out under the stars to talk quietly, sometimes to watch the aurora when it appeared. He enjoyed running as a pack with the others, though Aela rarely joined them, solitary as she was. He had thoroughly enjoyed every spring when her season came upon her and she was in one of her rare receptive moods, something that was already overdue, and the entire pack had come together with her then lay in a tangle in the grass. It had felt like family. Belonging.

And yet he had always had a faint, nagging concern in the back of his mind over the lack of a real family. A wife and children. Part of the reason he and Farkas hadn’t yet married at their advanced age was fear of their wives and children finding out about the beastblood. It was a very valid concern and the reason why those in the Circle rarely if ever married. Aela’s father Astvar had known what her mother was but they had never married and Aela’s mother Gislun had never considered leaving Jorrvaskr. Vilkas didn’t particularly want that either, and neither did Farkas, but they had both agreed long ago to wanting families, or barring all else at least _a_ family, together. It wouldn’t be easy to find a woman who would accept what they were, and if by some chance they did Vilkas had nothing against sharing a wife with his brother. They had shared Aela every spring for the last nearly ten years, and the occasional lover when they were on jobs together, so sharing a wife was not a problem, and he was sure a woman wouldn’t find it one either, and the children would be theirs together, since as identical twins there would be no telling whose children were whose anyway.

Well, at forty-one the odds of finding the women or woman were slim to none, unless Kodlak was somehow able to find a cure. The old man seemed certain of it, but time was slipping away, and Vilkas resented that he was now so aware of it. The thing he had once enjoyed now seemed like a sentence. Every sleepless night was now a burden, something to endure that could no longer be dealt with by a quick change and run on the plains. Farkas was still doing it, still undecided about what to do, and Vilkas was trying not to pressure him about it and let him come to his own decision for once as Kodlak had demanded. Farkas tried to be discreet about it, but it was impossible to hide when he came in smelling of grass and meadow flowers and the wind, looking tired but happy. Now Vilkas was just tired.

Njada held her own well enough as they made their way through the cave, though she had resumed her bitching the moment her feet got wet. They came back out with not only the Dawnguard Rune Shield they had been sent for by Florentius Baenius, the eccentric priest of Arkay who was working with Isran, but also were loaded down with very valuable chaurus eggs and falmer ears, rare ingredients that Arcadia would pay a pretty septim for. It would be more convenient to sell between here and Whiterun, but the alchemist had done many favors for the Companions over the years and was their main source of potions, and it always paid to know which side your bread was buttered on.

“So we’re going to carry this shit halfway across Skryim?” Njada growled. They had left the horses in Rorikstead since this was partly a training mission on living off the land and managing with just what you could carry on your back.

“Yes. Shut up.”

“It stinks!”

“So do you! I said shut it!” She glared furiously at him and he pulled his helmet off and ran his fingers back through his greasy hair. He took a deep breath and said in a tense voice, “It does not matter how well you fight if you behave in such an unprofessional manner on a job. Your comments were a constant distraction and you brought the enemy down on us several times. Creatures who live in caves are sensitive to sound and the walls bounce that sound about. Remember this if you wish to keep working with me.”

“Well maybe I don’t.”

“At this rate you will have _no_ shield-siblings left who will work with you.” He hoisted the shield onto his back and made sure his gear was secured then started walking, not particularly caring if she followed or not, and after about ten seconds he heard her behind him.

She stayed blessedly silent the rest of the afternoon and evening, even during rest breaks, and when they reached Dragon Bridge and he rented two rooms and she still said nothing he realized she was trying to get to him by ignoring him. Well that was fine by him. He much preferred it this way, and he’d be damned if he took her with him again. Skjor and Torvar had gone after the first Dawnguard artifact, the Rune Axe, and Farkas and Athis the second, the Rune Hammer. Vilkas would take Ria with him next time and hope that the job was a simple one. The girl was green as could be but eager, and a pleasant traveling companion. Njada’s skill with a shield didn’t make up for her rotten temperament.

The next evening saw them nearly to Rorikstead and still the girl hadn’t spoken a word. There was no way in hell Vilkas was going to speak first. He’d burn in Oblivion before he gave her the satisfaction. He would—

“Oh shit!”

Vilkas smirked to himself and turned to look at Njada, only to see that she had dropped her sack of alchemy ingredients in the muddy road and was pulling out her shield and Skyforge steel sword as she stared in horror at the road behind them. He raised his eyes and his heart went into his throat at the sight of a dragon silently gliding towards them. “Bows,” he hissed. She quickly complied, for once without any backtalk or snide comments. He barely had time to nock an arrow before the creature flew over them, blasting them with a cone of ice that chilled them both to the bone. He had always wanted to go up against one of the beasts, but he was tired from traveling and they were nearly out of healing potions.

The creature roared and wheeled about for another pass, and Vilkas lined up his shot and took it, hitting the dragon in the belly, making it roar again in rage. Njada was trying to aim and failing miserably, her hands shaking as she raised the bow, and he grit his teeth and yelled at her, “Get off the road!” She glanced at him, her eyes wide with terror, and he waved her up the hill. “Get behind an outcropping!” She sprinted away and disappeared. He wanted to curse her for being a coward, but it would have been unfair of him. She had been a full Companion for years now, close to five, but none of them had ever had to face anything like this. She and Skjor had watched the Dragonborn fight one from a distance, about a year ago, but still, that had been at a distance. The dragons tended to limit themselves to certain areas and didn’t attack towns unless the Dragonborn was nearby, and he had been living in seclusion in High Hrothgar for close to six months now. This creature seemed to have been heading straight for Rorikstead. No dragons had been sighted at more than a distance in the mountains since the Dragonborn had returned from Sovngarde. Vilkas couldn’t understand what had brought this one out of hiding now. Just his rotten luck, he supposed.

He landed another shot, this time in the dragon’s neck as it prepared to freeze him again. He was as good at archery as he was everything else, but he knew he was outclassed here. He distantly heard the cries of Whiterun hold guards who had finally noticed the battle, but they were too far away to help, the town lights barely visible from here. He shot the beast again and it roared then landed, glaring at him with pure, murderous evil in its eyes. It came after him on the ground and he tossed the bow aside and pulled his great-sword. The Dragonborn’s words came back to him about Alduin’s tail, and he kept a close eye on this one. He was stuck between two massive dangers here, but at least he had more leeway with the dragon’s head.

A wave of relief rushed through him as the sound of hooves sounded, a single horse from what he could tell, then he heard booted feet hit the ground nearby.

_“KRII LUN AUS!”_

Vilkas yelled, recoiling from the thundering shout right next to him. The dragon’s hide crawled with sickly purple light as it started to writhe and moan. He spared a glance and saw what had to be the Dragonborn about ten feet away. He wore ebony armor that looked new, and a malachite mask with a hood. He was armed with the same enchanted katana as before. He limped toward the dragon, zapping it with a stream of lightning, and Vilkas shook himself and ran at the creature’s head while it was distracted by the Dragonborn.

The dragon looked to be visibly weakening before Vilkas’ eyes, and he slammed his sword into the beast’s neck. It swung its head about and knocked him onto his back, making the air rush out of his lungs. He groaned and hauled himself to his feet again and readied himself for another strike. He didn’t get the chance, the Dragonborn bracing himself and shouting again at the dragon’s flank.

_“YOL TOOR SHUL!”_

Vilkas stared in disbelief as fire boiled out of the mask, seeming to materialize out of thin air, since there was no way it could have come through the thin slit that was the mask’s mouth. The dragon flailed about, rearing up on its legs, and Vilkas rolled out of the way as a wing swept towards him, leaving a draft of rich, spicy smell in its wake. It fell to the ground and burst into flames, but to his shock the flames were cold and didn’t give off any heat. The carcass was quickly consumed with a crackling sound, then thunder boomed as ribbons of light began streaming towards the Dragonborn.

“I’ll be damned,” Vilkas whispered in amazement. Never in his life had he imagined witnessing the man absorb a soul. The Dragonborn stood there and accepted it, unflinching, and when the process was over he turned and stared at Vilkas, the mask blank and expressionless.

“Well. Isn’t this a lovely fucking coincidence.” The Dragonborn’s voice was rough and gravelly, his tone curt. Irritated. Cold.

Vilkas climbed to his feet and the two men stared at each other, or at least Vilkas assumed the man was returning his gaze. The Dragonborn then held his palm out to Vilkas and poured healing magic into him. Vilkas sighed in relief, not even realizing he had been wounded. Feeling awkward, something he was very unused to, Vilkas said, “I thought you were still up on the mountain.”

“I left two weeks ago.”

He hesitated, then forged ahead and asked, “Why?”

“They ran out of mead.”

Vilkas snorted at that, though he didn’t smile. The Dragonborn rotated his left shoulder then let his arm fall, making a soft sound of discomfort. He slowly turned away and limped over to the dragon skeleton. Vilkas found himself following, unwillingly fascinated. “I might have died if not for your assistance,” he said in a grudging tone.

“It wouldn’t have shown up to begin with if I hadn’t been nearby.”

“Was it heading for Rorikstead?”

“I wasn’t in Rorikstead.” His tone turned sour as he added, “I’ve been _trying_ to keep a low profile.”

Vilkas frowned and countered in disbelief, “You really think you can do that?”

“I’ve managed so far.”

“Where did you get the new armor?” Vilkas had never seen ebony armor quite like it. The pauldrons were smaller, more rounded, the gauntlets slimmer, overall looking lighter than standard ebony, if there was such a thing as standard ebony.

“I found it, piece by piece over the years. I altered the fit, made a few other changes.”

“When?”

“Why does it matter?” the Dragonborn retorted. Vilkas stiffened, his expression going flat, and the Dragonborn sighed. “Before, all right? I did it…before. As a spare. The Daedric armor was causing problems. Bothering people. And it was heavy. I can’t…manage that now.”

Vilkas murmured, “I am sorry.”

The Dragonborn sputtered and turned away. “Sure you are.”

“If I say I am then I am,” he replied angrily. “I am sorry for your loss.”

“Why? My loss is your gain, right? You Companions have been working for the Dawnguard. I’m sure it galls Isran, having to pay you people to do all the shit I used to do for free.”

That wasn't what Vilkas had meant, not at all, and he wondered if the Dragonborn was deliberately being obtuse. “How do you know, if you’ve been up on the mountain all this time?”

 _“King_ Ulfric puts a letter into every supply drop. I’m sure he thought he was being real subtle when the last shipment didn’t have any liquor in it. Prick.” He made a sound of frustration and waved his hand at the massive skeleton in the road. “Take what you want. I’m not lugging that shit around.”

Vilkas let the matter drop, hearing such intense bitterness in the other man’s voice that it was caustic. He stayed silent and watched the Dragonborn gather purple magic in his right hand that made Vilkas bristle, then he stifled a gasp when the man threw it into the road and a skeletal horse appeared, burning with bluish-purple fire. The Dragonborn limped to it, whispering soothing words to the thing’s skull as he stroked it, as if it were a living horse, then he climbed onto its bony back. Vilkas shivered at the dreadfulness of it and felt a wave of relief as the man galloped off into the dusk, away from Rorikstead.

He went for his sword when he saw movement to his left, and he slammed it back into its scabbard when he saw it was Njada. She stared at the dragon skeleton with a tense expression, and he resisted the urge to bark at her. “Help me gather some bones and scales,” he demanded tersely. “They’re probably valuable. And they’re probably heavy as well, so I don’t want to hear any of your bitching about it.”

“Fine,” she said quietly. Maybe even respectfully. Better late than never.

As they neared Rorikstead the guards ran up to him and started peppering him with questions, and he answered them truthfully while leaving out what he could. There would be no doing that with Kodlak when he got home. Njada would tell everyone that the Dragonborn had finally reappeared after all this time and Kodlak would want the details. He would know if Vilkas left anything out. The old man could see right through people, could look into your eyes and know if you were lying or leaving anything out, and Vilkas wasn’t immune to that.

The Harbinger hadn’t been the same since the Dragonborn had come along. He had returned from Ivarstead several days after Vilkas’ return from Windhelm, and he had been so deeply upset that he had retreated into his quarters for two days, only allowing Skjor and Tilma in. When he had finally opened his doors again and called for Vilkas, he had asked for a full report of what had happened in Windhelm, and Vilkas had given it unflinchingly, leaving out nothing. The old man had listened with an expression of stone. He probably would this time too. Vilkas wondered if Kodlak would be relieved at all to hear that the Dragonborn had returned, presumably to resume his duties. He supposed that was now all that the Dragonborn had left, depressing as the thought was.


	4. Chapter 4

** Farkas – 10th & 11th of Heartfire, 4E205 **

Farkas raised his nose to the wind and breathed deeply, feeling a wistful pleasure as the night breeze brought him the scent of prairie flowers and dry grass. He could hear the crickets singing and the calls of elk below the two moons that hung full and heavy over Whiterun. It was the perfect night for a hunt. He just wished he had someone to share it with.

He sighed and shucked off the last of his clothes then bent down and let the transformation come over him, gritting his teeth against the sudden intense pain that filled his chest then spread outward. It wouldn’t last, and the pleasure that came after was more than worth it.

Fully changed, he breathed in the smells again, ten times as intense…dry earth, sweet grass, lavender and tundra cotton, the White River, smoke. The colors washed out into a thousand shades of gray, black and white, but everything was clearer, and he could see farther out past the farms onto the plains from the hidden entrance to the Skyforge. He huffed, his limited thoughts vaguely wishing at least one of his packmates were here, but he hunted mostly alone these days.

It had been nearly a year since Kodlak had given up his transformations, though he was so sick now that he was practically bedridden. Aela and Skjor uncharitably thought that his illness would improve if he changed, which Farkas even with his lack of smarts knew was bullshit. Aela and Skjor had been acting odd lately, too. Mysterious. They had been hunting together often, spending sometimes two or three days at a time away from Jorrvaskr. Kodlak had stopped confiding in Skjor, and Skjor had made no secret of his disappointment in his old friend and his growing lack of confidence in his leadership. Aela found Kodlak’s stance on the beastblood confusing and sad, much as she loved the old man. Skjor did too, like a brother, but even brothers could have a falling out.

Farkas’ own brother was proof of that. Vilkas was so grouchy and tense all the time now that Farkas could hardly stand to be around him. He kept pestering Farkas to give up the hunt, but how could Farkas do that when he saw what the lack of it was doing to his twin? Why should he suffer like that? Still, Farkas was torn as to what to do. Kodlak had been very clear about Sovngarde’s pleasures, which sounded more up Farkas’ alley than chasing game for an eternity without rest. And it would be nice to get a really good night’s sleep again. And not be distracted all the time thinking about the hunt. Vilkas and Kodlak were pretty convincing.

He ran around then down the hill, in the direction of the elk he had heard. It was late summer and the rut was in full swing. The meat might be a bit gamy because of it, but he didn’t mind, and it would make the bulls edgy but stupid. He didn’t need a bull though. A cow would be more than enough for just him. Because he was all alone.

Raising his muzzle to the moons, Farkas howled sadly, and his only answer was a pack of wild wolves some distance away. They wouldn’t trouble him; they steered clear of the Circle even in human form, able to smell their nature even then. He was glad that his brother couldn’t hear him back at Jorrvaskr, with Vilkas gone on a job. How he missed hunting with Vilkas. His twin was not only his brother but his best friend, and Farkas knew he felt a bit betrayed by Farkas’ reluctance to give up his transformations. Maybe Farkas could give it a try, just for a while. See if it was manageable or turned him into a surly bastard like it was doing to his brother. It would mean a lot to both Vilkas and Kodlak. The old man didn’t have more than another three months left in him according to Danica. Maybe Farkas could do it for that long, until the old man was gone. Give him some peace at the end of his life.

The elk weren’t where Farkas expected, and he lifted his nose to the breeze and sniffed, perking up his ears to pick up where they had gone. He couldn’t hear their calls at all anymore. There was a light smell here and the grass was trampled, as if the herd had been here earlier in the evening, but there was no telling where they had gone. The breeze was coming from the south, so unless they had gone that way—

The twang of a bowstring and the whistle of an arrow through the air were all the warning he got.

Farkas roared in pain as an arrow buried itself in his ribs, and the intense burning told him it was tipped with silver. He began to run blindly, his only thought to get away from his attackers. _Silver Hand,_ he thought in a panic, unable to think any more deeply than that. They must have stayed upwind of him, and alone he was vulnerable. Another arrow sank into his upper back and he yowled and had enough presence of mind to drop to the ground, flattening himself in the tall grass.

“Where’d the mutt go?”

“He’s around here somewhere. We got two good shots in. Keep your ears open. The dogs are heavy breathers.”

Farkas bared his teeth, clamping them together to keep a whimper from escaping. The silver had set his flesh on fire, making it hard to think, and it was hard enough as it was in this state. The silver was keeping him from changing back to human form, but if he changed back he would be defenseless. Clawless. Fangless. Dead.

Well, he was going to die anyway. He knew that with total, depressing certainty. But he would at least take some of the Silver Hand out with him. As the crunch of a dozen footsteps in the dry grass grew nearer he braced himself, sparing a vague grieving thought for his twin. If he had given up the hunt it never would have come to this. He held his breath as best he could, waiting for one of his hunters to come close enough.

He roared to his feet and swiped his claws across a woman’s belly, spilling her guts onto the ground. Her comrades backed away, silver weapons shining in the bright moonlight as they formed a circle around him. One darted at him and slashed, and he knocked the weapon away, but not without getting cut across the palm. Another ran in and cut across the back of his right leg, and he went mad with the burning pain. Farkas lashed out around him, feeling intense satisfaction as his claws caught flesh and his mouth closed on limbs and necks. But there were too many. Well, he would go to the Hunting Grounds tonight proud of taking half a dozen of the bastards out with him.

He was on his knees, feeling another blow across his back that drove him all the way to the ground, and he gave up, in too much pain to fight back, too weak with blood loss. He laid there waiting for the killing blow and couldn’t do more than growl weakly as a booted foot nudged his head.

“What d’you think? Take it back or finish it off?”

“Eh, better we just kill it. Look how big the son of a bitch is. Seven feet tall if he's an inch.” There was a low whistle of amazement.

“Might be one of the twins. The big dumb one.”

“Doesn’t matter which one he is. Just take his head off for a trophy and call it a night. That’s what it gets for hunting alone, the stupid bastard.”

“Wish we could figure out how they’re getting in and out of the city.”

“We’ll have to keep a closer eye on the redheaded bitch and old one eye. They’re bound to slip up eventually.”

“Maybe we should see if we can get this one to change back and talk. _Make_ him talk. This is the first Circle mutt we’ve gotten our hands on.”

“He won’t talk. You’re new, you don’t get the way the dogs feel about their packs. He’ll die before he talks. Just finish the—”

Farkas squeezed his eyes shut, panting, waiting for the killing blow. Instead he heard a gurgle and the scraping sound of steel on bone, followed by cries of alarm from the other Silver Hands. He lifted his head, blinking blood out of his eyes. He squinted, unable to lift his head far, but far enough to watch the perplexing sight of a girl in leather armor whirling through the hunters, cutting them down effortlessly one by one with a steel great-sword that crackled with lightning before any of them could defend themselves. Her long braid flew behind her like a banner, though he couldn’t tell what color her hair was.

He laid his head back down, too weak to keep it up, in so much pain he could hardly bear to take a breath. The night grew silent, and he heard a faint groan nearby that was silenced by the stroke of a weapon. He heard the sound of the sword being cleaned off on something, probably one of the hunters, then the scraping sound of it being replaced in its scabbard. Then light footsteps in the grass, halting just out of his reach. Then the creak of leather and the snap of a knee as the girl squatted down.

“I won’t hurt you.”

Oh. Not a girl. The voice was soft and slightly high-pitched but obviously not a girl’s. He’d never known a man to have long hair like that. Elven guys sometimes did, but they were girly sometimes anyway, and this guy had a Nord accent. Farkas stayed still, breathing unevenly, unable to help a whine of pain from escaping.

“It’s all right, wolf,” the voice soothed. “I can heal you, but the arrows have to come out first. Do you understand what I'm saying?”

Farkas managed a nod. Of course he understood. The Circle weren’t ordinary feral werewolves. He felt the tentative touch of a hand on the back of his paw.

“Easy now, big guy,” the stranger murmured. The hand moved to Farkas’ shoulder then he heard the hiss of sucked in breath. “Hircine’s hairy balls,” he muttered. “They really fucked you up, didn’t they?” Farkas whined in assent. “All right, brace yourself.”

Farkas let out a moan of pain as the arrow was ripped out of his back, and even if he was inclined to fight he couldn’t. He just didn’t have anything left in him. He felt another pang of agony as the arrow in his ribs was removed, but at least it was a clean pain now that the silver was gone. The change came over him before he could stop it, his body contorting and rippling, the pain nothing compared to everything else. Soothing warmth flowed through him and the agony retreated inch by inch until it was gone. He was still too weak to move though. Healing couldn’t replace blood loss. He was so tired all he wanted to do was lie there in the bloody grass and go to sleep.

“Oh no you don’t. Come on, Farkas. You’ve got to get up. Work with me here.”

“Too tired,” he whispered. “W-wait, how do you know my name?”

“I’ll tell you when I get you back to my camp. It isn’t real far.” Farkas groaned and pushed himself up onto his elbows, and he felt the man’s gloved hands slide under him and start pulling upward. The man was surprisingly strong for someone Farkas had taken to be a girl. “Whew, you stink, buddy. Like a wet dog.” Farkas grunted, knowing that all too well. The man got him to his feet then put his arm around his waist to hold him up. “Come on, big guy. Not very far.”

It wasn’t easy making his way across the plain, uneven as it was, dotted with rocks. They stopped at a small stream so that Farkas could get a deep drink and wash off, and he felt his face grow warm as he saw the other man’s eyes glittering as he watched him. Farkas’ vision in human form wasn’t any better than a normal man’s, but the moons were out. The man cleared his throat and looked away, folding his arms, and Farkas studied him as best he could in the moonlight. Which wasn’t all that well. The man wasn’t tall, maybe five-ten at best, average size for any human race but Nord. Maybe he was Breton but had been raised here, and that was why he sounded Nord. His hair was pulled back from his face into a braid that reached his waist, and he wore leather armor that one could buy anywhere, and it looked fairly new except for the blood splattered all over it. The pommel of the steel great-sword poked up over one shoulder.

Farkas didn’t ask any of the dozen questions on the tip of his tongue, too tired to form the words. He got up out of the water, and when he nearly toppled over in a wave of dizziness the stranger hurried forward and caught him then wordlessly started walking with him again.

The stranger’s camp came into sight after what seemed like an eternity…a small banked fire and bedroll under a rock overhang, on the back side of the hill that Whiterun sat on, Dragonsreach looming overhead. Farkas and his brother had sheltered here before on hunts when it rained, the two of them sitting together watching the rain fall. It was frequently occupied by bandits but didn’t seem to have been recently. The stranger laid him down and pulled the top of the bedroll over him and Farkas sank into it with a sigh, closing his eyes. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“Sure.”

“What…what’s your…”

Next thing he knew it was morning, and he rubbed his eyes and squinted up at the rock ceiling overhead. He stared at it in confusion, so weak and tired he could barely open his eyes. He could feel the fire next to him but he felt a shiver of cold go through him. He heard the creak of leather and turned his head, causing a wave of dizziness to go through him. He turned onto his side with a groan and squeezed his eyes shut, his head spinning.

“You need to eat something.”

“Can’t,” Farkas whispered. He shivered with cold, even though he knew he shouldn’t be cold. He could feel the warmth of the fire and the fur lining of the bedroll but it still wasn’t enough.

“You lost a lot of blood. I healed all your wounds and restored your stamina, but I can’t fix the blood loss.” Farkas felt the man sit on the edge of the bedroll and put a hand to his forehead, Nord-warm and calloused. “Mm, you’re cold,” he said with concern. “Clammy. We need to get you back to Jorrvaskr and into a real bed.”

“Who are you?” The idea that this guy knew his name and where he was from was suddenly terrifying.

“Just an adventurer. You’re lucky I was out here.”

 _“Why_ are you out here?” he asked suspiciously. He heard a chuckle, though it wasn’t as light-hearted it seemed the man was trying to make it.

“Can’t a guy enjoy a warm summer’s night under the moons, no questions asked?”

“No.” Heard a truer laugh at that, though it quickly ended, like the guy wasn’t used to laughing. “What’s your name?” The other man hesitated, as if debating whether to answer. Farkas cracked an eye open and looked up at him, and the first thing he saw was patches of shining, puckered pink scar tissue on the man’s right cheek. A young man. He seemed young anyway; his face youthful, with bright green eyes shining out of thick lashes that curled upwards slightly, and a small but full mouth, the lips pursed thoughtfully. His hair though was liberally streaked with pure white, the rest of it a color just between blond and brown, the entire effect making Farkas absurdly think of a sweetroll with icing. Maybe he was hungry after all.

The young man looked down at him as if feeling Farkas’ inspection, searching Farkas’ eyes as if looking for something, and the other side of his face was mostly undamaged, though another scar ran across the bridge of his nose. By Dibella the guy was pretty, now that he could see his entire face, and when he smiled slightly with those big, grass-green eyes Farkas felt a flutter in the pit of his gut that had nothing to do with hunger. At least not for food. Well he sure wasn’t in any condition to do much about that.

“Edric,” the young man finally murmured, then he blew out a long breath as he turned his gaze back towards the plains. “Edric,” he repeated softly, as if to himself. “That's my name.”

“How do you know who I am?”

“I’ve run into the Silver Hand a few times in my travels. Thought I was dealing with bandits only to find gory trophies and caged werewolves. Also found a lot of documentation. Letters written back and forth between their leaders. Journals. Sorry, but I know about the Circle. Can’t be helped.” He looked back down at Farkas, who stared back with a frown, his silver eyes wary. Edric held up his hand, and Farkas squinted at the ring there then his eyes widened in shock. “You aren’t the first werewolf I’ve helped out of a jam.”

“That’s the Ring of Hircine,” he whispered reverently. “But you aren’t…one of us.” The wolf’s head ring only worked for werewolves, letting them control their urges, or so it was said. Farkas had never laid eyes on it, thinking it was more a legend than anything else.

“No, but it’s a nice ring.” He shrugged, looking away from Farkas. “I…thought about joining the Companions. I can’t pretend that I don’t know what you are, the five of you. I thought if I showed up wearing the ring that it would prove I had good intentions. Didn’t mean any of you any harm.”

Farkas nearly laughed at the thought of a young man his size doing any harm to the Circle, then he remembered the previous night and how Edric had taken down half a dozen Silver Hand before they knew what hit them. He nodded and said, “You would make a good addition to the Companions. It isn’t an easy life, but it’s a good one. Least I think so.” The dizziness was gone, for now, and when he struggled to sit up Edric helped him, steadying him when he wobbled a bit.

“Think you can eat now? I made venison stew.”

“When?”

“Last night. I got a deer right before I set camp.” He reached off to his left and grabbed a bottle of Nord mead.

Farkas watched Edric pop the cork off and drink down a third of the bottle within ten seconds, something that even someone as big as Farkas would be hard-pressed to do. “Uh…little early for that, isn’t it?”

“Not really. I haven’t been to sleep yet, so really it isn’t morning for me, is it?” He held the bottle out to Farkas, who shook his head. Edric set the bottle aside then picked up a bowl of stew that had been set aside to cool and handed it to Farkas. As he stuck the spoon in it he saw Farkas still staring at him with a worried expression, and he waved him off as he picked back up the bottle. “Don’t worry, big guy. I’m a veteran. I never let drink get in the way of doing my job.”

“Okay. None of my business, I guess. You seem like you can handle yourself.”

“That I can. Been doing it a long time.” He motioned to Farkas’ bowl. “Eat up. I’m pretty strong for my size, but I can’t get you back to Whiterun until you’re on your feet.” He ran his eyes over Farkas’ body then quickly looked away again. “Where did you leave your clothes?”

Farkas didn’t miss the tension in Edric’s voice. He pulled the flap of the bedroll over his lap in as casual a manner as possible. “Inside the Un…uh…”

“Underforge. Got it.” Farkas sighed heavily, looking troubled. Edric quietly said, “I went to a hell of a lot of trouble to save your life, wolf. I stayed awake all night to make sure the Silver Hand wasn’t still sniffing around. Either you trust me or you don’t.”

“Okay,” Farkas said with a nod. “I trust you, Edric.” It would be kind of ridiculous not to after everything the guy had done. He was rewarded with a smile and shining eyes that warmed him better than the stew and the fire did. Gods, the guy was pretty. Farkas had never seen eyes so perfectly green except in elves, and even then it wasn’t quite the same color green. He looked at Edric’s hair and asked, “How old are you, anyway?”

“Because of the hair? I’m going to be thirty in a few weeks. I started going white at seventeen. Runs in the family. And you?”

Farkas wrinkled his nose. “Eh, forty-one. Old.” He ran his fingers back through his dark hair. “Guess I should be glad I don’t have more gray than I do.” He had a few gray hairs here and there, same as Vilkas. Not bad for their age. “So you really think you want to join the Companions?”

Edric shrugged as he took a long drink. He swallowed and stared out across the rolling plains as he mumbled, “It isn’t really a matter of wanting to. Have to, I guess.”

“Why? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I promised someone I would do it, eventually. I keep my promises. Mostly.”

“Mostly.”

“Don’t worry. The only promises I can never seem to keep are the ones I make to myself.” He motioned towards the city above them. “Think anyone will come out looking for you? Someone must be worried.”

“Vilkas is out on a job with Torvar and Ria. Aela and Skjor are off doing something, gods know what. Kodlak’s nearly bedridden these days. I uh, don’t think anyone knows I’m gone.” Edric shook his head in disapproval. “I know, I should’ve told someone. Believe me, I’m never hunting alone again.” He huffed and added in a mutter, “I’m probably _never_ hunting at all ever again.”

“Why’s that?”

Farkas took a bite of stew and chewed it, wondering what more he should tell him, then he figured it couldn’t get any worse at this point. “Kodlak wants to be cured. So does Vilkas.”

“Huh. And you?”

“I like being a…werewolf.” There, he had just come out and said it. “It feels good, you know? Well no, you don’t, how could you? But I like it. The hunt I mean. It hurts to change, but only for a minute, then you can run free and smell everything and see in the dark and just not think about anything. Not that I have that problem, not like my brother does. Vilkas is always thinking about stuff. Skjor says he has the brains of Ysgramor, but I have his strength.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

The strange tone of voice made Farkas frown as he set down the bowl of stew. He watched Edric rub his eyes then take another long drink of mead, draining the bottle, then he looked at it as if he wanted to throw it but then carefully set it aside. “You okay?” Farkas asked in concern.

“Not really, but thanks for asking.”

“You look tired. You should lie down and sleep.”

“One bedroll.”

“We can share. I’ll keep my hands to myself, I promise.” Edric glanced at him, looking tense, his green eyes flicking over Farkas then away again, suddenly looking like he was going to cry. “You’re sad.” He wasn’t smart, but he was good with people. He could tell Edric was an honorable person. An unhappy person, but an honorable one. Edric wouldn't have gone to all this trouble if he wasn't.

“I’m always sad. Some days are just better than others.”

Farkas saw him reach over for his pack, and he growled, “Don’t get another bottle, Edric. Just lay down and I won’t get grabby or anything.”

“You keep saying that.”

“You’re uh…well, you look…nice. Good, I mean. Really good.” Edric’s eyebrows rose then he snorted a laugh and shook his head. Farkas’ cheeks grew warm as he slid back down into the bedroll. “I wouldn’t come onto you if you’re sad. Maybe you don’t go that way, but I saw you look at me. If I wasn’t weak I’d be more interested, but I doubt I could really do anything about it right now anyway.”

Edric licked his lips, looking uncertain, then he pushed the bowl of stew out of the way and laid down next to Farkas on top of the bedroll, dragging his sword over to lay in front of him within easy reach. Farkas heard him take in a quiet, shuddering breath, huddled in on himself, and he resisted the urge to put his arm over Edric and hold him. Vilkas often chided him for his tender heart, but he couldn’t stand seeing people hurt or sad. Edric seemed hurt _and_ sad. Lonely. Well, perversely enough that would probably be enough to keep Farkas out of his pants. He didn’t take advantage.

“I wouldn’t have guessed. That you like men.”

The soft statement made Farkas laugh quietly. “People usually don’t.”

“What about your brother?”

“Well no, he’s fairly straight. He fooled around with guys once in a while when we were young, but then he stopped and I didn’t.”

“Does he know that?”

Farkas sheepishly replied, “No. Least I don’t think he does.” He sighed and burrowed deeper into the bedroll, shivering as a chill went through him. “When Vilkas and I were young we decided we were going to find wives together, have babies together and raise them together. He still wants that, but…we aren’t kids anymore and I… just…never ended up liking women as much as he does. I’ve never had the heart to tell him. I mean, I’d like to get married and have kids someday. I like kids. I’m good with kids.” Too many people liked to say it was because he was a big kid, but he wasn’t. Not even close. He sighed and went on, “But being what we are makes it hard. Dangerous. We can control ourselves better than ordinary werewolves, but it takes a lot of control, especially, uh, in bed. It’s hard not to get rough, or bite and growl. Living with someone all the time, in close quarters like that…it would make it more likely that they’d find out. Kodlak thinks he’s close to finding a cure, but he’s been really sick lately.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Yeah, it’s probably gotten around. Danica and Ahlam keep him as comfortable as they can, but there’s only so much they can do.” Kodlak had deteriorated so much over the last year that Danica didn’t think he would live much past the end of the year. The rot was eating him alive from the inside out. Danica had tried explaining to Farkas that it wasn’t a disease you could catch from anywhere, that it was basically one’s own body attacking itself. It was so far over Farkas’ head that he had just nodded and taken her word for it. If she said so that was good enough for him, especially when Vilkas was saying the same thing.

He felt Edric nod, but the younger man was quiet, for so long Farkas thought he had fallen asleep. Farkas was nearly asleep himself when he heard, “So what’s it like being a Companion? Living in Jorrvaskr?”

“They’re my family,” Farkas murmured sleepily. “Lived there my whole life. It’s hard sometimes. Dealing with Vilkas’ snottiness or Aela’s temper, or how stern Skjor can be, and then you’ve got all the whelps and their personalities, but we’re a family, and Kodlak’s like our pa. We take care of each other. If you join up you’ll become family too.”

“Sounds nice. Maybe I will.”

“Good. I’m going to sleep now.”

Edric laughed softly. “Okay, Farkas.”

When Farkas next awoke the sun was high overhead, and he stared at the unfamiliar head in front of him, finding his nose buried in the brown and white hair. At some point he had taken his arm out of the bedroll and thrown it over the person he was spooning with. Edric, he reminded himself. He debated moving, hearing the deep, even breathing that told him the other man was still asleep. The curl of Edric’s slender body fit perfectly inside Farkas’, his rump snuggled into Farkas’ groin. He wrestled with the sudden intense need for a moment, and he was about to move away when a subtle scent finally registered with him. Something warm and spicy.

It tickled at his memory, and he chased it for a few minutes until it finally came to him: cinnamon. It smelled like the cinnamon that Tilma had put in the twins’ porridge when they were little. He hadn’t had it in over thirty years, since trade with Elsweyr was disrupted and the spice became impossible to get, but it hit him now with a sweet familiarity that made him bury his nose in further and breathe deeply. The spicy smell was mixed with the scent of leather armor and male sweat, and the combination was so enticing he couldn’t help letting out a low growl of arousal. He definitely felt better now.

“Well isn’t this cozy.” Farkas lifted his head in alarm as Edric stirred, and to his wild relief it was Aela. The Huntress could move in perfect silence when she had a mind to. He hadn’t heard a thing. He sat up on his elbow and saw Skjor standing about thirty feet away, keeping watch. She smirked at him and squatted down on the other side of the dead fire. “You find bedmates in the strangest places, brother.”

“It isn’t how it looks,” he said in embarrassment. He felt Edric push his arm away and roll to his feet, and Farkas sat up, only to see Aela glance down at his lap and quirk a red eyebrow.

“Oh really.”

“I just woke up!” he protested, pulling the bedroll over his lap. That wasn’t the entire reason he was hard as a rock, but that was none of her business. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen it, or had it, plenty of times before, but Edric was staring out onto the plains with a tense frown, his cheeks pink. “How did you find me out here?” Her silver eyes shifted to Edric, and Farkas sighed. “He saved my life, sister. The Silver Hand got me.”

“Yes, we found the remains, what was left of them after the wolves and sabre cats got their share. We also found your blood all over the place.”

Her eyes still stared at Edric in a predatory fashion that the young man pointedly ignored. As if he knew that meeting her stare would rile her. “He knows what we are Aela, but he can be trusted, I swear. He saved me when they had me nearly dead, in beast form. I was almost dead. He healed me and brought me here and took care of me. He killed half of them without breaking a sweat. I told him he should be a Companion.” She grunted at that, giving him nothing, still studying Edric intently. Then her eyes lit on the ring.

Aela leaned towards Edric, who finally glanced at her, seeming unconcerned about the sudden increase in the intensity of her gaze. “Where did you get that, pup?” she asked in a growl. “That ring. You wear our master’s ring, but you aren’t one of us.”

Edric calmly stated, “I got it in Falkreath. A wolf named Sinding—” Aela bared her teeth and hissed Sinding’s name, and he went on, “Yes, he murdered a little girl, but he did it under the influence of this very ring. Hircine cursed it. I took the ring from him and found the great white stag and killed it. Long story short, I spared Sinding. Hircine wanted me to kill and skin him and I said hell no. The Daedra cleansed the ring and didn’t seem to hold a grudge. He was actually pretty fair about it.” He took it off and held it out to Aela. “Want it?”

“I have no need,” she said in clipped tones. “I am no wild wolf.” She sneered at him and added, “I belong to the Lord of the Hunt. That you so casually throw away his gift offends me.”

“So offering you something I thought you might like offends you? You must be a fun girlfriend.”

Aela sat back on her heels, her tongue in her cheek. She then turned her gaze to Farkas, who was looking between her and Edric with a worried expression. “Are you well enough to move, brother? Skjor has your clothing.” Farkas nodded. Aela turned and whistled, and Skjor came trotting over. The one-eyed old warrior came to stand next to Aela, and after he tossed Farkas’ clothes to him he stood staring at the scene with his hands on his hips, scowling. She motioned with her chin towards Edric. “This one knows what we are.”

“Is that so,” Skjor stated in a low, dangerous voice.

Farkas said in warning, “He saved my life, Skjor. He found out what we are by cleaning out Silver Hand lairs and reading their letters and journals. He’s going to join the Companions.”

“Is that so,” Skjor repeated. He looked the young man over then asked, “What’s your name, boy?” The young man stared at him for a long moment, and when Skjor looked nearly ready to bark at him he finally spoke.

Edric said in aggravation, “I said I _might_ join the Companions. If this is the kind of thanks I get for saving your packbrother’s life, I’d hate to see what kind of treatment the average whelp gets.” He picked up his great-sword off the ground and slung the leather baldric over his head and across his chest. Farkas bit his lip as Edric began packing up his gear. The young man dumped the remains of the stew into the single bowl and shoved it at Farkas. “Finish that.”

“Okay,” Farkas mumbled. He could tell Edric was angry. Maybe even hurt. Farkas wasn’t very happy either. As he ate he glared at Aela and Skjor, who were both watching Edric’s every move, which Edric was pointedly ignoring. When Farkas was done he handed the bowl and spoon to Edric, who scraped it out into the fire then shoved it into his pack. He took out a bottle of mead then stood and walked away from the camp, stopping about thirty feet away to stand with his back to the three of them as he drank.

Skjor frowned at the young man’s back as he muttered, “What’s his problem?”

“I think you two hurt his feelings. Especially Aela.”

The older man sputtered. “What does he want, a hug?”

Aela smirked and said, “No, I think ice brains here took care of that.” Skjor raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment on that while Farkas began dressing, his cheeks red. Aela glanced behind her at Edric. “I don’t like that he knows what we are,” she said in a tone of disquiet.

“I don’t like that he didn’t bother telling us his name.”

Farkas pulled on his tunic as he said, “His name is Edric. He said he’s an adventurer.” Skjor went still and Aela grunted, watching the young man. “He fought off six or seven hunters on his own, in the dark, and they couldn’t touch him. They didn’t even know he was there until he was right on top of them. He healed all my wounds like it was nothing. Even with the silver I've hardly got a mark. We could use our own healer in Jorrvaskr.” Skjor slowly nodded as he turned to watch Edric as well. “I know he’s not a big guy, but he’s strong. He came up to me when I was still in beast form. He pulled the silver arrows out and wasn’t afraid of me. He sat up all night watching over me. He told me he wore the ring because he wanted to prove to us that he has good intentions.” He narrowed his eyes at his shield-sister. “Then he tried to give it to Aela and she just about spit in his face for it.”

She said in a defensive tone, “He did it in much too casual a manner.”

“Yeah, because he isn’t a werewolf. Of course it doesn’t mean to him what it does to us.” He made a sound of frustration. “Edric’s a good person. He’s strong and skilled and honorable. What more do you want?”

“All right, brother,” Skjor said, relenting. “You know people. If you say we can use him, then we can.”

“Good,” Farkas sighed in relief.

“Kodlak will have to take a look at him first.”

Farkas made a sound of assent; of course he knew that. He sat down on the bedroll to put on his boots and saw Edric drain the last of the mead out of the bottle then pull an amulet out of his armor; the young man brought it to his lips and kissed it then held it there, talking to himself. Praying maybe. Farkas quietly said, “The only thing that worries me is I think he might have a drinking problem. He seems…it’s like…he’s troubled. Sad. He told me that, that he’s always sad.” Farkas hadn’t gotten the chance to ask him why, either.

“No one cares about his drinking as long as he isn’t another Torvar.” Skjor folded his arms and quietly added, “And he wouldn’t be the first person to join the Companions to get away from his past.” He glanced back at Farkas. “I’ll go have a word with the lad. If he can do all you say he can and Kodlak likes the look of him, then he’s in.”

“Okay.” Skjor walked away and Farkas began packing up the bedroll, shaking the dust off it, then he smelled that smell again, permeating the whole inside of it. He stuck his nose into the fur and took a deep breath, suddenly feeling happy. He was sure Kodlak would let Edric join. Everyone would like Edric as much as Farkas did, he was sure of it. He closed his eyes and rubbed his cheeks on the fur and growled in contentment.

Aela frowned at Farkas and muttered in disquiet, “What on Nirn are you doing?”

“Uh…nothing.” He folded and rolled up the bedroll then set it aside, seeing Skjor leading Edric farther away, his hand on the young man’s shoulder. He watched as the older man asked Edric something, then Edric glanced back at Farkas and Aela. Skjor gripped his shoulder more firmly and leaned close to him, asking something more intently, then Edric nodded once, curtly. Skjor let his hand fall away then put his hands on his hips and looked out over the plains. Edric said something, slowly shaking his head and making a cutting motion with his free hand, and Skjor folded his arms and pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed. Edric kept talking in an animated fashion, waving the empty bottle about, then Skjor held his hands up in surrender. Skjor motioned to Edric’s face and the young man seemed embarrassed, putting his hand over his right cheek, and it made Farkas feel a surge of protective anger. It wasn’t nice to point out people’s scars. Every warrior had them. Skjor was missing an eye, for gods’ sake.

Aela said in annoyance, “Why is he going to the trouble? Either the pup wants to join or he doesn’t.”

“Edric is a strong warrior. He’d make a good Companion.”

“Maybe so, but he doesn’t seem particularly eager for the honor.”

“He told me he promised someone that someday he would join.” He added with excitement, “He has a lightning sword. It lit up those Silver Hands like…well, like lightning.”

“You said he was an adventurer. He could have found the sword anywhere. Doesn’t look any fancier than a plain steel great-sword to me.” Skjor gripped Edric’s shoulder then patted it and started walking back, leaving the young man behind, where he grasped his amulet and began to pray again. When the old warrior returned Aela said in offense, _“What_ is his problem? Does he need to pray on the matter to make a decision?”

Skjor replied, “Let the lad be. He’ll come by in a day or so.” He motioned to Farkas. “Let’s go, brother. I need to tell Kodlak about Edric, give him a little warning. Then we need to call the Circle together when your twin gets back and talk about the Silver Hand. They were right on our doorstep. They stalked you.” Farkas nodded solemnly. “Did they say anything to you?”

“Not _to_ me,” Farkas quietly said. “I uh…they nearly finished me off. I was down on the ground bleeding to death. One of them said he wished he could figure out how we’re getting in and out of the city, then they said they’d have to watch you two more carefully and wait for you to slip up.”

“Fuck,” Aela spat. “Maybe the old man will listen now!”

“Well I’m not going out hunting alone anymore.” He hesitated then added, “Maybe not at all.”

Skjor said in distaste, “Not you too.”

“Well shit Skjor, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life being hunted. Last night was bad. Really bad. I’d be dead now if it wasn’t for Edric.”

Aela said, “Yes, and I find it too much of a coincidence that he just happened to be there at just the right time.”

“He was out here deciding whether to join,” Skjor stated. “He was out here watching the city and mulling it over, so no, it wasn’t entirely coincidence. Much as it offends you sister, it isn’t an easy decision. He’d be giving up a large measure of his freedom, just as I did. You and the twins were raised to become Companions. The rest of us were not.”

“Fine,” she sighed.

“Give the lad a chance, and don’t drive him off with your attitude.”

“It won’t be me who does. It will be Vilkas.”

“Vilkas,” Skjor spat, rolling his only eye. “He made his own bed and now he’s lying in it.” He turned to Farkas and said in warning, “You’ll end up a mad dog like your brother if you give up the hunt.”

Farkas protested angrily, “No I won’t. And he’s not a mad dog. He’s just…he’s tense, that’s all.”

“That tension of his is bleeding out onto everyone else. The whelps are all scared of him at this point. So are half the women of this hold. Mark my words, if he doesn’t come to his senses and return to the hunt he’s going to go feral one of these days, and then we’re going to be forced to put him down. That’s the last thing any of us want. He and Kodlak might be acting like fools, but they’re still beloved brothers of blood and shield. This Sovngarde obsession of Kodlak’s has torn the pack apart.”

“We should be able to choose where we want to go when we die!”

“Yes, and you chose when you took the blood,” Aela stated firmly. “The origins of the beastblood are neither here nor there. You and Vilkas knew what you were getting into when you joined the Circle.” Farkas said nothing more, fuming, and she turned on her heel and started back to Whiterun, Skjor following. She waved her hand and barked, “Come on, ice brain. We’re taking you home.”

“I’ll catch up. I want to say goodbye to Edric.”

“Don’t fall behind,” Skjor warned. “None of us are safe anymore.”

“Sure thing.”

Farkas went over to Edric, who didn’t turn. Farkas came around to look at him and Edric sighed heavily and looked up at him. Those big, sweet eyes and the sadness in them made Farkas have to fight not to sweep him into a hug, then he said to hell with it and did it anyway. Edric squawked and stood stiffly, his arms at his sides, and Farkas kept it brief, patting him on the back then letting him go. “Thank you,” he said warmly. “I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me.”

Edric looked away, murmuring, “No problem. Feel better?”

“Yeah, much.” His eyes lit on the amulet lying on Edric’s chest. “You worship Kynareth?” The other man made a sound of assent, nodding. “Then Whiterun is where you need to be. The temple is there. And the Gildergreen, though it’s kind of…dead.”

“I’ve heard.” He reached up and wrapped his hand around the amulet.

“Skjor wasn’t talking about your, um, scars was he?”

Edric shook his head, the braid swaying. “Nothing bad. He wasn’t unkind, don’t worry.” He sighed heavily. “Maybe I’ll see you in a day or two.”

“No maybes about it. You’d better show up.” Edric nodded. “Promise?”

He took a deep breath and looked up at Farkas. He searched Farkas’ eyes again, for so long that he felt his face grow warm, then Edric seemed to find what he was looking for and nodded, making Farkas let out a breath of relief. “I promise, Farkas. I will come to Jorrvaskr. Tomorrow.”

Farkas grinned in relief and patted Edric’s shoulder then took off at a jog to catch up with his packmates. The sound of shattering glass startled him, and he glanced back to see that Edric had finally thrown the empty mead bottle against a nearby rock and was praying again, his shoulders hunched over. He stopped where he was, nearly going back, his heart aching at the obvious pain radiating from the other man. He sighed at Aela’s call and continued home. He would get it out of Edric eventually. Skjor had been an angry, closed-off mess when he came to Jorrvaskr, when the twins were twelve, and it had taken almost a year before he finally started warming up a little, first to Kodlak, then Askar and Gislun and the others. Skjor had been a soldier in the Great War, and a mercenary for years after that, a true sell-sword, and a damn good one too. As young as he was, surely Edric hadn’t done anything like that, though Farkas supposed he might have fought in the civil war. A lot of people had. Either way, Farkas would get it out of him. He hoped Edric stuck it out long enough to let Farkas do it.


	5. Chapter 5

** Vilkas – 12th of Heartfire, 4E205 **

Vilkas rotated his shoulders, trying not to growl irritably at the sound of his brother murdering the lute in his room. His twin couldn’t play to save his life, but every so often Farkas would get some pathetic musical urge and start twanging on the thing. Vilkas had no musical talent either but he could tell the lute was badly out of tune. He had often considered over the years taking it to Mikael for tuning but he’d be damned if he asked the vain blond for help with anything, and tuning it wouldn’t change the fact that Farkas had no musical ability whatsoever.

He threw his pack down on the floor of his room then went to check on Kodlak. It worried him that his foster father wasn’t attended more often, but Tilma was even older than the Harbinger and had her own duties. Vilkas had considered asking Ahlam, Nazeem’s widow, if he could hire her as a nurse to check on Kodlak several times a day, but the old man would have his head for it, refusing to be treated like an invalid. The thing was, he nearly was an invalid, spending most of the day in bed, his lungs so destroyed by the rot that he could hardly breathe. Some nights when he couldn’t sleep, Vilkas would lie there staring at the ceiling and swear that he could hear the old man’s wheezing down the hall, and the helplessness he felt would nearly drive him mad with frustration, forcing him to get up and pound on the training dummy in his room until he was exhausted. Who was he kidding; he was always exhausted.

He gritted his teeth as he entered the Harbinger’s quarters, hearing the raspy sound of Kodlak struggling to breathe as he shuffled about his room. Well, at least he was up and on his feet. Vilkas knocked on the door jamb before sticking his head in, and to his relief he saw the old man was up and dressed and had some color in his cheeks. Kodlak smiled at him and Vilkas let out a shaky breath and returned it. He didn’t ask how the Harbinger was feeling. He knew better. Still, the old man seemed in good spirits today.

“Ah Vilkas, you’re back,” Kodlak said in satisfaction.

“Yes, the job went well. The girl was unharmed and is back safe with her family.”

“How did the whelps do?”

“Ria carried herself well. She no longer panics in battle and is doing better at keeping her surroundings in mind. Torvar…” He shook his head then pushed his filthy hair out of his eyes. “I am at a loss as to what to do with the sloppy bastard. I would toss him out on his ass right now if not for his family connections.” He was the spare youngest son of Skald the Elder, Jarl of the Pale, and while he was good about not playing on his status and was decent in a fight, it was a constant struggle to keep him sober on the job, and he seemed to prefer fistfights to actual battle. He wasn’t quite a coward but he wasn’t particularly brave either. Kodlak nodded, his lips pursed, then he began coughing, and Vilkas had to pretend that he didn’t see the flecks of blood that the Harbinger quickly licked away.

“Come, let’s go sit. I smell Tilma’s apple pie.”

Vilkas stood aside to let the older man shuffle by, ready to catch him if needed, and was pained by how frail he was. The rot was eating him alive, literally consuming him from the inside out. Vilkas had no idea how he could continue watching this happen. And yet he had no choice. None at all.

Kodlak sank into the chair and saw that indeed Tilma had left a freshly baked pie on his table. He drew in a deep breath of it then sat back in the chair. “So. Now that you’re back, the Circle will be meeting in the Underforge tonight.”

“Why?”

“Silver Hand.” He took a deep breath and went into another coughing fit, and once it was over he rasped, “Your twin nearly died two nights ago.” Vilkas went pale under the dirt and war paint, his gloved hands tightening in his lap. “He has agreed to consider giving up the hunt, as we have. The encounter scared him straight, it seems.”

Vilkas slowly nodded, relieved. How he wished it hadn't taken something like this though. “I can only hope that he deals with it better than I have. I still feel the call of the blood, constantly.”

“As do I,” Kodlak said with sympathy, “however this is our burden to bear until a cure is found. We _will_ overcome this, son. I promise you that.”

“You have my brother and me, obviously. But Skjor and Aela—” Vilkas cut off, hearing the door at the end of the hall open then the scuff of leather boots on the stone floor.

“A stranger approaches,” Kodlak murmured. “I don’t recognize the footsteps.”

“Aye.” A young man was walking down the hall, dressed in sleeveless steel armor without the pauldrons, armed with a steel great-sword that seemed too large for his slender frame. Vilkas at first took him for a Breton, however the other races dressed warmly in Skyrim even in summer, and today was the 12th of Heartfire, and while the man had somewhat…delicate features, they were still Nordic. Vilkas heard a shuddering intake of breath from Kodlak as the young man entered the Harbinger’s quarters, then the old man began to cough again. Vilkas stared coldly at the stranger and folded his arms, asking, “What do you want?” The young man was looking at Kodlak with an expression of almost horror. “Hey, I am talking to you!” Vilkas barked. “What is your name and what do you want?”

The young man narrowed his eyes as they slid over to Vilkas, and he stated in a terse voice, “My name is Edric. I’m here to join the Companions.”

“Are you now,” Vilkas sneered. He was distinctly unimpressed. That hair was ridiculous. No true warrior let his hair grow that long. “We already have enough girls here.” Instead of getting offended Edric smiled and fluttered his eyelashes at him.

“So you think I’m pretty then?” Kodlak let out a wheezing laugh that made Edric look back to him in concern while Vilkas seethed. He looked Vilkas over and added, “At least I know what a bar of soap is for.”

“I just returned from a job,” Vilkas hissed, his blood suddenly boiling. “And no, you are _not_ pretty, not with those hideous scars on your—”

“Vilkas,” Kodlak said sharply, and Vilkas fell silent, practically trembling with rage. Kodlak gave him a long warning stare then turned his attention to Edric. “Come lad, let’s have a look at you.” Edric hesitated then knelt in front of the Harbinger. He put his hands on the young man’s shoulders and looked into his eyes for a long moment, then he nodded slowly and whispered, “Yes. You have strength of spirit, boy. There is no denying that.”

Vilkas said in offense, “Master, surely you aren’t considering it!” He did not at all like the way Kodlak was looking at the man. The depth of emotion there was unsettling, and confusing, and Edric was meeting his gaze with a clenched jaw and shining eyes, a shiver going through him as Kodlak weakly patted the young man’s shoulders then took his hands away and sat back.

“I am not your master Vilkas, or anyone else’s. We have empty beds last I checked, and Jorrvaskr always has room for those with a fire burning in their hearts.”

Still kneeling, Edric muttered, “That’s something I no longer have.”

“Then perhaps this is where you will find it again.” Edric seemed unconvinced of that.

Seeing there was no dissuading the old man, Vilkas stated, “It is not only his heart that matters, but his arm.” He snapped at Edric, “How are you in a battle, if you have ever actually seen one?”

“I’ve seen plenty,” Edric stated, “and I can more than hold my own.”

“I will be the judge of that.” He stood. “We will go out into the yard and test your arm.”

Kodlak said to Edric, “Return to me when you are done lad, and…we will talk.”

“Yes sir,” Edric agreed quietly.

Vilkas didn’t wait to see if the young man followed, though he heard him do so after a few seconds. Once upstairs he saw the rest of the Companions watching Njada and Athis going at it again, the dark elf determined to best her in a fistfight no matter how many tries it took. It was sad that an elf made a better Companion than Torvar. And there he sat watching the fight with a mug in his hand. Pathetic.

No one seemed to notice them heading out to the yard, and once they were out there Vilkas muttered, “All right, let’s have a look at you.” Edric stood there and after a few seconds held his hands out to his sides in question. The young man’s arms were more muscular than Vilkas had originally thought, but still slender. “You’re a Nord?” he asked skeptically. The man looked and sounded like one, but he was much more lightly built than Nords usually were, and shorter. It was possible the man was a mutt, but he was standing out here in the cool air without any discomfort, and except for his height and build Vilkas couldn't see those tiny signs of another race that halfbreeds usually had.

“Born and raised. Want me to take my armor off to see if my nipples get hard?”

“You are going to stop that right now or you’re out of here,” Vilkas growled. “I don’t tolerate that from the women here and I sure as hell won’t tolerate it from you.” Edric’s eyebrows rose then he shrugged without concern. Vilkas gave him a long warning glare then turned to the weapons rack under the shelter of the stone overhang of the Skyforge. He picked up a steel training shield and slid his arm into it, then he asked, “Do you always fight two-handed?”

“Usually, but I’m also proficient with a short sword and shield. Or a bow.”

“Where did you get your training?”

“Here and there.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“The Legion. Orc strongholds. Ulfric’s army.”

He narrowed his eyes and sneered, “You’re a Stormcloak?”

“Was. I quit when the war ended.”

“That was nearly a year ago. What have you been doing since then?” There were plenty of former Stormcloaks wandering Skyrim these days, looking for trouble more than anything else. Vilkas could only hope that this one was halfway honorable. In fact it was surprising that this was the first one that had come through their doors.

“Traveling.”

“How did you get into an orc stronghold? They don’t let in outsiders.”

“They do if you try hard enough and agree to live by the Code of Malacath while you’re there.” Edric went to the weapons rack and reached for a blunted steel great-sword meant for training.

“No. That is mine. No one else uses that but me.” Edric’s lips pressed together into a flat line, as if it took all his willpower not to give a smart-assed retort. Vilkas picked up a different one and handed it to him. “Here, use this one.”

Edric frowned as he gave the sword a few swings. “You let people train with this? This is terrible.” Vilkas didn’t answer, walking away to an open space. He stopped and turned around, holding up the shield. “Is this the kind of welcome everyone gets?” Edric asked tartly.

“Only the people with bad timing. And smart mouths.”

“I can’t help it if I’m a free spirit.”

Vilkas quickly brought up the shield as Edric swung at him without warning, without even the slightest of tells. The young man’s green eyes were suddenly hard and Vilkas quickly found himself getting backed into a corner with a series of blows that he was hard pressed to deflect. He rolled out of it and barely had time to bring up the shield as the great-sword swung down so hard it left his arm numb. Edric’s expression never changed during the entire thing.

Edric backed away, putting the sword on his shoulder. “Should I keep going?” He motioned towards the shield. “I think that’s done for.”

Vilkas shook off the shield, cursing under his breath at the pain in his arm where the metal had dented in so far that for a moment he feared his arm was broken. It very well might have been if he wasn’t still wearing his armor. Which was also slightly dented. He was suddenly enveloped in a yellow glow that erased the pain, and his mouth fell open as Edric lowered his hand. “You’re a healer?” he gasped. Edric shrugged and went to put the training sword back.

“Seriously, this training sword is a piece of crap. Point of balance is all wrong for the length. And the leather on the grip is loose.”

“That is intentional. That sword is meant to train the whelps to use whatever is at hand and adapt to it.” Vilkas stared at Edric’s back as he walked to the rack. This whole thing had him knocked for a loop. The young man’s walk was easy and confident, and there was no doubt he was skilled. He could heal. Even Vilkas saw the benefit in having someone here who could do that. That hair though was annoying the hell out of him. It made him want to sneak up on the guy and cut it off and burn it. When Edric ignored his earlier warning and picked up Vilkas’ training sword he nearly snapped at him, but instead he kept silent and watched as Edric began gracefully swinging the sword about. The sword was heavy, a blunt version of Vilkas’ own Skyforge steel great-sword, and the muscles rolled under Edric’s skin as he swung it as easily as the much larger Vilkas would have. The sword on the man’s back didn’t look any lighter. He began moving through some basic sword forms then abruptly stopped and set the training sword back on the rack. Vilkas noticed that the young man fought left hand dominant, which was unusual, but other than that he didn’t know what to think. Most of the candidates they got here were raw; some had potential, and those they kept, but most were inexperienced. This one seemed very experienced, and Vilkas still wasn’t satisfied with the explanation for it.

Vilkas walked over to him, stopping about ten feet away, and Edric asked, “So am I in?”

The tone of the man’s voice was no longer flippant, but the almost bored way he asked set Vilkas off all over again. As if this test had only been a formality, Edric's place here already assured. He countered in aggravation, “Why do you even want in?”

“Farkas told me I would like it here. That this is a family. I could use one, I guess.”

Wonderful, Vilkas thought sourly. “When did you meet my idiot brother?”

Edric’s eyes narrowed in sudden anger. “When I saved his life two nights ago, and I hope to hell you don’t talk like that to his face.” Vilkas looked shocked, and Edric said with less heat, “So you didn’t know.”

“No. As I told you, I just got back from a job. Right before you showed up.” So this…this _person_ had saved Farkas’ life. Vilkas hadn’t had the chance to ask Kodlak what had happened, but he had never imagined that this kid had been involved. Which meant that he owed him. It wasn’t a comfortable feeling at all.

“Farkas is a good man.”

“Yes, I am very aware of that.”

“And he is _not_ an idiot.”

“If you say so.” The corner of Edric’s lip lifted as he stared coolly at Vilkas. “What happened?”

“He was out hunting alone—”

Vilkas felt the hairs on his neck stand on end and he moved to grab the front of Edric’s armor, but the young man smoothly danced out of his reach before he could connect. He growled through gritted teeth, “What did you see?”

Edric replied with quiet calm, “A big ass werewolf with two silver arrows in him, lying in a pool of his own blood.” Vilkas stared at him with dilated silver eyes, breathing heavily, his hands flexing, and Edric warned, “You are much more likely to expose the Circle than I am, wolf. I’m no danger to you. Unless you come after me again.” Vilkas struggled to control himself, and Edric went on, “I was out on the plains dressing out a deer I'd gotten earlier that evening and heard the attack. I already knew what you were, from Silver Hand lairs I cleaned out, thinking they were bandits. If I hadn’t come along just then he would be _dead,_ do you understand? He took out six of them on his own, but there were another seven. They were two seconds away from chopping his head off when I got there. I pulled the arrows and healed him and took him back to my camp and watched him overnight. There might’ve been more hunters about, and he might have gone into shock. Sometimes even after you heal someone that can finish them off if they’re weak enough. I fed him some stew in the morning and he slept some more, then Aela and Skjor showed up. Skjor also told me to come to Jorrvaskr, if that makes any difference to you.”

“All right,” Vilkas said in a near whisper, the anger draining out of him, replaced with cold fear. “What did they say? The Silver Hand.”

“They know you have a secret way in and out of the city. The Underforge, I’m guessing, but they don’t know that. They mentioned waiting for Aela and Skjor to mess up so they can catch one of them. They didn’t even try to interrogate Farkas.” His lips pursed then he looked at Jorrvaskr’s back doors as he murmured, “Maybe I should go check on him. He seemed okay, but he lost a lot of blood.”

The last of Vilkas’ resentment left him as he murmured, “I am sure he’s fine. I…owe you.”

“Well, Farkas does, but I’m sure everyone here owes someone something.” He turned away. “I’m going to talk to the old man.”

“Fine.” He followed after Edric, eyeing the sword on this back. He could see the faintest sheen on it. “Is your weapon enchanted?” he asked in distaste.

“Sure is.”

“May I see it?” Edric stopped on the porch and pulled out the sword, handing it to him. The two-handed sword looked fairly ordinary, but it was perfectly balanced, sweeping through the air like a razor through silk. Looking at it you would never know how flawless the weapon was. “Where did you find it?”

“Solstheim.” Vilkas looked shocked again. Edric took the sword from him and slid it back into its sheath. “It’s called Stormfang. Took it off some bandit leader. Reavers, they call them there.”

“You…have been to Solstheim?” It was impossible to keep a touch of yearning out of his voice. Edric had been to Solstheim. Edric shrugged and Vilkas moved closer to him, getting a warning glare. He knew he was invading the other man’s personal space and didn’t care. “Why were you in Solstheim?”

“I was doing odd jobs for the guy who runs Raven Rock. There was nothing interesting left to do here.”

“I heard the Dragonborn was on Solstheim. Did you see him?” Supposedly there had been another Dragonborn or some such nonsense. As if anyone was going to believe that.

“No. No I did not.”

“Huh.” While he mulled on that Edric took a slow step away, his eyes cold, and the movement left a draft of scent in his wake. Knowing that the man already knew what he was, Vilkas sniffed after him then leaned close and drew in a deep breath, making Edric huff in offense and shove him away. “You reek of alcohol,” Vilkas said in disapproval. “We already have one drunk here and do not need another.”

“I’m not a drunk; I’m an alcoholic. There’s a difference.” Vilkas made a sound of disbelief at the admission. “I have _never_ been drunk on the job. Not once.”

“Is that because of your work ethic, or because you have built up such a tolerance for it?”

“Either. Both. Does it matter?”

“It matters to me.”

“Why?”

“Where did you get the scars?”

“Damn, you’re nosy. Did I pass your test or not?”

“Yes, but—” Edric turned on his heel and walked away, throwing Jorrvaskr’s door open and stalking inside. Vilkas stood there for several moments, wrestling with the uneasiness he felt. There was something about the new whelp that just didn’t sit right. Many things about him that didn’t sit right. Taken separately, no single thing would have bothered Vilkas, but put together they were troubling.

Edric had been a Stormcloak. He was much more skilled than the average recruit. He knew healing magic. He had been to Solstheim. He had trained in orc strongholds. He had scars on the right side of his face and another across his nose. He was a smart ass. And he had a drinking problem.

Many of those things lined up with the Dragonborn. But then the Dragonborn was missing an eye; Edric had both. The Dragonborn’s face was destroyed; Edric had scars on his right cheek and nose only. The Dragonborn was partially crippled, walking with a heavy limp; Edric moved smoothly, gracefully. The Dragonborn was burnt to the point of having no hair on his head, down to no eyebrows or lashes; Edric had a head of hair that would have taken years to grow to that length, and very full eyelashes. The Dragonborn spoke with a constant thu’um, his voice rough and raspy from screaming; Edric’s voice was light, melodic even, with not even a hint of the thu’um. The Dragonborn had reportedly visited Solstheim for several months earlier in the year, but had also reportedly returned to High Hrothgar after that and hadn’t been seen since mid-Second Seed.

Well, Edric was no Dragonborn, obviously, but the man was hiding something. There was something so damn… _weird_ about the guy. It was no single thing Vilkas could put his finger on either, and it drove him to distraction. He was so distracted that it took him a few minutes to realize that he’d completely forgotten to make the whelp take his sword up to Eorlund for sharpening, his usual first task for a newblood. Maybe that was for the best; Edric might have simply refused to do it and Vilkas would have been left standing there with it, looking like a fool, with no recourse.

Preoccupied, Vilkas went back into the mead hall, vaguely registering most of his shield-siblings sitting down to eat, Njada and Athis sitting companionably near each other as if nothing had happened. The girl at least had toned down her bitchiness since the dragon encounter near Rorikstead. Vilkas was hungry himself, but he knew his odor right now wouldn’t exactly be appetizing to anyone, including himself.

When he went downstairs he saw Kodlak’s outer doors were closed, and he huffed in annoyance and went to his room to strip off his armor. There was no longer any horrid dissonance coming from his twin’s room, by the grace of Dibella. He neatly set his armor on its stand then gathered clean clothes and headed for the single bathing room they all shared, and once he was feeling clean and presentable he went and knocked on his brother’s door.

Farkas called him in, and when Vilkas entered he saw his brother sitting at the bar, whittling, something he usually only did when he was bored, though unlike playing the lute it was something Farkas was good at. He closed the door and his twin smiled at him, and Vilkas sighed and let the sight soothe him, though it was hard, thinking how close Farkas had come to dying. He’d lose his mind if he lost his twin, the one person in his life who had always been there for him no matter what. He went to Farkas and impulsively grabbed him into a hug, letting out a shuddering breath. “You idiot,” he whispered. “Fucking idiot.”

“I know,” Farkas muttered sheepishly, holding his twin in return. “It was stupid and it won’t happen again.”

“It had better not.” He nearly let go of him but decided to stay there, letting his brother’s scent wrap around him comfortingly. Farkas didn’t mind. “So the new whelp saved you.”

Farkas lifted his head and let go of Vilkas, saying in an excited tone, “Edric is here?”

Vilkas sighed at the loss of contact and warmth, and when Farkas moved to get up from his seat Vilkas pushed him back down. “He’s talking to Kodlak in private. The old man won’t want to be interrupted.” Vilkas sat down next to him. “Your luck ran out that night, brother,” he warned.

“I know. I was just about dead when he came along.” Vilkas closed his eyes for a moment, and Farkas leaned against him. Vilkas growled quietly and rubbed his head against Farkas’, and he patted his twin’s leg and said, “It’s okay. He killed the rest of them and healed me up. He watched over me all night and took care of me.” He paused then added in a cautious tone, “He knows what we are, but he can be trusted, I swear. Did you see his ring? He wears the Ring of Hircine. He saved that feral werewolf in Falkreath we heard about. He has the Lord’s blessing.”

“He is better off without it. Kodlak has said that no one else will take the blood as long as he is Harbinger.” So Edric had done that too. It seemed there wasn’t anything he hadn’t dabbled in.

“He tried to give the ring to Aela as a gift and she got mad. Said she didn’t need it, but…maybe, maybe he would give it to you.”

“I don’t want it,” Vilkas said curtly, pulling away from his brother and standing.

“Yeah, but you need it.”

“I’m fine.”

“No you’re not.”

 _You are much more likely to expose the Circle than I am, wolf._ Edric’s words came back to him, taunting. And dangerously true. This last job hadn’t been a particularly messy one, but he had made it that way, the smell of blood sending a wave of bloodlust through him that was extremely difficult to ignore. It was getting to the point where he was afraid to take any of the whelps with him, on the off chance that he was pushed into changing. If he changed in front of any of them he would have to kill them to keep the Circle’s secret. No way in hell he wanted to be responsible for that. It was bad enough they were starting to grow wary of him. He had seen how frightened Ria was this last time out.

Farkas changed the subject, asking, “Were you the one who tested him?”

“Yes. He is very skilled.” He added sourly, “He also has a drinking problem. He stank of liquor. It was practically oozing out of him. He admitted to being an alcoholic.” And amongst Nords that was saying something.

Farkas frowned. “I know, but he said he never lets it get in the way. Maybe once he gets comfortable here he can sort out whatever’s bothering him. It’s like he’s grieving.”

“He said he is a former Stormcloak and was in the Legion. He no doubt lost friends or kin in the war.”

“Yeah. Hey, look what I’m making him.” He picked up the chunk of linden wood, already roughed out into a bird-like shape. “It’s going to be a hawk. For Kyne. He worships Kynareth. Did you see his amulet?” Vilkas shook his head. “I’m giving this to him as a gift for helping me. I can’t really do much else right now. I feel okay but still get tired easy. Danica checked me out and said he did a perfect job healing me but it’s going to take time to build back up my strength. A couple weeks maybe. I’m bored as hell, so…I’m making him a bird.”

Touched, Vilkas said, “I’m sure he will like it.” And if Edric said something snide about it or hurt Farkas’ feelings Vilkas was going to strangle him. “Are you hungry? You should eat plenty of red meat and dark greens, you know.”

“That’s what Danica said. But no, I just ate. Thanks.”

“All right. I’m going to go get something.”

“Leave the door open on your way out. It’s stuffy in here.”

“Aye.”

Vilkas went out into the hall and saw that Kodlak’s doors were still closed. He moved closer on bare feet, hearing Edric’s voice, soft and low, then the deep rumble of Kodlak’s, broken by the occasional hacking cough. He then heard Kodlak laugh, something that had been rare during the last year.

Satisfied that Edric wasn’t riling the old man Vilkas headed upstairs, starving. He supposed he could give the whelp a chance. Kodlak seemed pleased that Edric was here, and Farkas obviously was, and even Skjor had supposedly encouraged Edric to join. Vilkas headed for the old warrior, who was sitting by himself on a side bench, his arms crossed over his chest and his legs stretched out in front of him, his head tilted back against the wall, eye closed, and it stayed that way even when he felt Vilkas’ weight on the bench.

“Vilkas,” he said in greeting.

“We have a new member as of today.”

“Uh huh.”

“What do you think of him?”

Skjor shrugged one shoulder, opening his eye. “I think he’ll be a good addition to our group. Someone who can fight off seven Silver Hand in the dark without taking a scratch? That’s not an opportunity we can afford to pass up.”

“Aye, but…” He folded his arms and leaned back as well. “Didn’t you find him a bit…odd?”

“How so?”

“So you didn’t.”

“Not particularly, no. His hair is annoying, but if he’s managed to fight with hair that long I’d say he can do whatever the hell he wants. He seems a bit troubled, but…well, you were old enough to remember when I came here. I didn’t want to be here, but I had nowhere else to go. He likes his drink a bit too much, but he’s no Torvar. Farkas says he’s a skilled healer, which is something we’ve lacked here.” He waved Vilkas off. “Give the lad a chance. Let him get comfortable here and he’ll open up eventually.”

“Fine.” Vilkas lowered his voice as he asked, “Was my brother as bad off as he and Edric say he was?”

Skjor gravely stated, “Yes, absolutely. Aela and I came upon the scene of the fight the next morning. We were off hunting the night before in the hills up north, and when we returned no one knew where Farkas was. We went into the Underforge and found his clothing near the entrance. We followed his trail out onto the plains and found one hell of a mess. The predators had torn up the bodies and none of them were his, but his blood was everywhere. The ground was soaked with it. Farkas told us on the way back to the Underforge just how bad it was. He was nearly dead. He was lying on the ground bleeding to death with two silver arrows in him, all sliced to hell. There’s no doubt in Aela’s, Farkas’ or my mind that your twin would be dead if Edric hadn’t come along.”

“All right,” Vilkas whispered. Well that certainly drove it home. The thought of it sent fresh pangs of anxiety through him, mixed with wild relief. For that alone he would give Edric a chance to prove himself.

“It was stupid of him to hunt alone, and I partially blame myself and Aela for that. But you and Kodlak have to bear partial blame as well. Ice brains has the notion now that he’s going to give up the hunt. Don’t think Aela and I can’t see what it’s done to you. You’re driving yourself mad, and for what?”

Vilkas replied angrily, “For Sovngarde. For purity. I want to die a man, a warrior, not an animal.” He made a sound of frustration and shook his head. “I am not going there again with you, or Aela. I’ve made up my mind.” And his mind was sound, and he didn’t care what any of them said.

“Fair enough. Let’s hope your brother manages it better than you’ve been able to.” Vilkas growled quietly, fuming. Skjor looked at him in concern, silent for a long moment, then he softly said, “The lad has the Ring of Hircine. If you insist on staying on this path…”

“I don’t need the ring.”

“Okay.” Vilkas stayed where he was, still struggling with his temper, and Skjor left him to it for a few minutes then said in a careful tone, “About your brother…”

“What about him,” Vilkas snapped.

“He seems very fond of Edric.”

“Yes, he seemed happy he was here.”

“No, that isn’t what I mean.” Vilkas frowned and turned to look at him. “When Aela and I found them, Farkas was snuggling with him.”

“Snuggling?” Vilkas said with a grimace. “Did I just hear that word come out of your mouth?” Skjor laughed, his single silver eye sparkling. “My brother does not _snuggle_ with other men.”

“Really. Well I saw them snuggling. Spooning, how’s that? They were cozied up like a pair of field mice in a winter burrow, and Aela said she saw Farkas smelling Edric’s hair and growling. She also told me that when Farkas was rolling up Edric’s bedroll he started sniffing it then growled and rubbed his cheeks on it.” Vilkas stiffened, his lips pursed and eyes narrowed. Skjor asked in a thoughtful tone, “Just when was the last time you saw Farkas with a woman?”

“Not even a month ago. Narri, the serving girl at the Dead Man’s Drink in Falkreath. The two of us were there on business. We…” Vilkas trailed off, his face growing warm, and Skjor quirked an eyebrow.

“Do tell.”

“Regardless, I have seen him with women recently.”

“You two are odd.”

“Mind your own damn business.”

Skjor held his hands up in surrender. “All right. I’m just saying that it’s something to keep close watch on. A man's preferences are his own and I couldn't care less, but not the rest of it. That kind of behavior in one of us isn’t trivial. ”

“I’m well aware of that.” It worried him that Skjor was right, that maybe Farkas only slept with women when Vilkas was around. He had gone plenty of places over the last ten or fifteen years where men had either approached him openly or made eyes at him, and they always seemed shocked when he declined, and he now feared that it was because his twin had bedded them and the men assumed Vilkas went the same way. But Farkas never had trouble bedding a woman, never seemed disinterested. But then he never seemed that eager either. Just…agreeable. And it was always Vilkas who had to make the first move; Farkas never did. Vilkas hadn’t doubted over the years that Farkas still occasionally slept with other men, but Vilkas had always assumed Farkas was sleeping with women as well.

For Farkas to ‘snuggle’ with a near stranger and display mating behavior was worrisome. It made it absolutely vital that Edric never take the beastblood. If the young man smelled like one of their kind then Farkas would find him even more enticing, and it was obvious Edric was a lover of men from his flirty behavior and a certain lilt to his voice, though there were plenty of men who were extremely masculine and showed no signs at all. And that hair, like a girl’s… No, there was no question there of what Edric was, and it made Vilkas apprehensive all over again about allowing the new whelp into the ranks. Farkas had been much too excited by the news that Edric had arrived. Maybe the big oaf had a crush on the young man because he had swept in and saved his life. And knew what Farkas was and didn’t shy away from it. And was much too pretty for a man, except for those nasty scars on his face.

Vilkas grunted and stood and walked away from Skjor, hearing the old warrior chuckle behind him. No, he would have to make sure that Farkas didn’t take it into his head to sleep with the new recruit, and vice versa, and he would be damned if the whelp was ever allowed to take the blood. Vilkas would absolutely not allow his brother to permanently mate to another Companion, let alone another man, and the only way Farkas could do that was if the other was a werewolf. Farkas had agreed nearly two decades ago to their plan for the future and by Mara they were sticking to it. They were going to get cured, and they would find wives, or a wife, and settle down and have a family together, like normal people. The Circle had always taken a firm stance on not forming mating bonds between members, as it had the potential to cause jealousy and strife within the Circle. Relationships between Companions were frowned upon in general, for the same reason, though there was no actual rule against it. Neither twin had ever slept with a shield-sibling, though it was sometimes difficult not to when he was on a job with Ria and she was making eyes at him, thinking she was being discreet about it, and his blood was howling inside him, the wolf pressing for release in any way it could find it. Well, after this last trip he doubted Ria would look him in the eyes ever again.

As he seated himself at the table and began filling his plate he cast a glance at Skjor and saw the one-eyed warrior smirking at him. “Bastard,” he muttered to himself as he speared a slab of venison. Well then, once Farkas was recovered Vilkas was taking him back to Falkreath to visit Narri. She had seemed quite happy with attention from both twins and had always been a friendly, pleasant girl, and it went without saying that she was lovely. They weren’t getting any younger, and Kodlak seemed convinced that a cure would be found before the end of the year. Narri was as fine a candidate as any for a wife. Maybe they wouldn’t even have to quit the Companions. Tilma was getting ancient and there was no reason Narri wouldn’t do as a replacement. Vilkas had quite a bit of coin saved up; the twins could buy Severio Pelagia’s old house and repair it, since it had passed back into the Jarl’s ownership. Breezehome stood empty but was much too small. That would allow them to continue doing what they enjoyed and still have a family. Vilkas wasn’t cut out to be a farmer or shopkeeper. He absolutely did not have the temperament for that, beastblood or not.

Feeling satisfied, Vilkas dug into his lunch. It was the perfect solution. He would start steering his twin that direction once Farkas had recovered. People had told Vilkas since they were small to take care of his brother, and that was damn well what he was going to do, whether Farkas liked it or not.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of the prior chapter...

**Farkas - 12th of Heartfire, 4E205**

The sound of Kodlak’s outer doors opening made Farkas jump up from his seat, and after a brief dizzy spell he hurried out into the hall he shared with his brother then out into the main hall of the living area. He saw Edric coming out, some of the tension that had been there the other day eased, and when he looked up and saw Farkas he gave him a smile that made the big man grin at him. “You came!” he said happily, grabbing Edric into a hug. And there was that wonderful smell again, that warm spiciness that made Farkas want to…well, do something that would get him into a hell of a lot of trouble.

Edric laughed and patted Farkas on the back. “I promised I would, big guy,” he replied.

Farkas held him out at arm’s length and Edric smoothed his hair back, glancing behind him at Kodlak, who watched them with a smile of contentment on his weathered face that Farkas hadn’t seen in a long time. “This is a great day, Harbinger.”

Kodlak chuckled and said, “Aye son, that it is. Show Edric where he’ll be sleeping.”

“Sure.” He put his arm around Edric’s shoulders, and the young man let him with only a small sigh of forbearance. “There’s extra beds in the whelps’ quarters. I know it isn’t much.”

Edric shook his head, saying, “You should see some of the places I’ve slept over the years. This is not a problem, really. Dry and warm is all that matters.”

“You can pick which side you want to sleep on. There’s kind of a women’s side and a men’s side but you can pretty much sleep wherever you want.”

“Well, I could go either way.” Farkas frowned, confused by the statement, and Edric laughed and poked him in the ribs. “Just kidding. I only go one way. Though I’ve had people tell me I’m like a girl sometimes. Doesn’t bother me. Sometimes I am. Anyone who doesn’t like it can kiss my ass.”

“Oh.” Farkas laughed quietly and admitted, “I thought you were a girl at first. Why do you keep your hair so long?”

“Because I can.”

“I guess that’s as good a reason as any.” He led him into the common quarters, which were empty with everyone upstairs eating lunch. He reluctantly let go of Edric’s shoulders and pointed to the beds. “You can tell which ones are slept in. You’re kind of between a rock and a hard place. Ria’s a sweetheart but Njada’s kind of a bitch at times. Athis is good people and pretty quiet, but Torvar is an ass and a drunk. Pick your poison.” He then realized what he had said. “I mean, you’re better than Torvar.”

Edric quietly said, “I’ll tell you what I told your brother: I have a drinking problem, I admit that, but I’m not a drunk. I’ve never gotten drunk on the job. I don’t get drunk, period.”

“Okay. Uh, I’m sorry.”

The young man shook his head, his braid swaying. “No, don’t worry about it. I know what I am. I won’t let it cause problems. I don’t want Kodlak to regret anything.” He waved at the women’s side of the room. “I’ll take this side. By Ria, wherever that is.” Farkas pointed, and Edric nodded and sat down on the crisply made bed. He lightly bounced his palms on his knees and asked, “So when do I get my first job?”

“Hm. I don’t know. I usually give out first jobs, but I’m supposed to be resting. Skjor or Vilkas might have something for you. Aela too. We don’t usually send anyone out on their own, but they’ll probably make an exception for you. You’re a lot more experienced than most of the recruits we get. Or…well, I’m assuming.”

“Yes. I’m experienced.” Farkas stared at him expectantly, and he took in a deep breath then said, “I joined the Legion when I was sixteen. Traveled all over doing that for a long time. Felt like a long time, anyway. I left the Legion four years ago to join Ulfric’s rebellion. When the war was over I quit his army and struck out on my own. I got back from doing some work in Solstheim just a few weeks ago. I think I’ve done a little everything, fought a little everything.”

“Have you ever fought a dragon?” Edric went still at that, frowning, and Farkas laughed and shook his head. “I’m joking. Vilkas fought a dragon once, did you know that? About six months ago.”

“How’d he manage?”

“He said he might’ve been able to kill it on his own, but the Dragonborn came along so he’ll never find out.”

Edric laughed then drawled, “Really. Your brother thinks he can take down a dragon on his own?”

Farkas shrugged. “He said _might’ve._ He didn’t sound all that sure, actually. It wasn’t like he was ungrateful for the help.” Edric seemed mollified by that. “Have you ever met the Dragonborn? You were a Stormcloak, you must’ve seen him.”

“A time or two.” He stood and stretched. “If there isn’t any work for me right now I think I’m going to visit the temple.”

Farkas nearly asked _Do you want me to come with you?_ but thought better of it at the last second. He didn’t want to smother the guy. “I’ll take you upstairs to meet everyone. The other whelps I mean. One of the others might have a job for you too, so we can check with them.”

“Sure.” Farkas left the room and heard Edric follow, and he saw Tilma had come downstairs with a mug of warm mead for Kodlak. He put his arm around Edric’s shoulders again and led him over to her. “Tilma, this is Edric. He just joined today.” He quickly let go of Edric when the younger man shifted uncomfortably, and cursed himself for smothering when he had just told himself not to do it. It was so hard not to though. Farkas was just so happy that he was here.

“Edric,” she said in a thoughtful tone. “Isn’t that nice.” Edric took her hand, making her let out a surprised _oh my_ before he kissed the back of it. She tittered and said, “Well aren’t you a sweet boy.”

Edric patted her hand then let go, saying with a wink, “I recognize the most important person in Jorrvaskr when I see her.”

She made a laughing, sputtering sound and waved him off. “Now you’re just buttering me up, you scoundrel. Get.”

Farkas laughed and headed upstairs, murmuring to Edric, “You just made her day.”

“She seems a lovely lady.”

“Oh, she is. She practically raised me and Vilkas. We’d all be lost without her.” As they topped the stairs he saw his brother in a heated discussion with Aela by the doors to Vignar and Brill’s former quarters, now partly Tilma’s, partly storage. The whelps at the table were watching them with varying expressions of morbid interest, dismay, annoyance, or fear, and Farkas could only be glad that if he couldn’t make out what his packmates were saying then neither could the whelps. Skjor was nowhere to be seen.

As they reached the fire Vilkas snarled at Aela then turned on his heel and stormed out of Jorrvaskr, not sparing a glance for his twin or anyone else. The Huntress came over to Farkas and grabbed his arm, and he went along with a grunt. She pulled him into Tilma’s room and slammed the door shut then turned on him, hissing, “Your brother is out of his damn mind!”

“No he isn’t,” Farkas said with a shake of his head, while fearing that maybe it was getting to that point.

“I told him about the ring the newblood wears and he refuses to take it.”

“That’s his right.”

“Not when he’s putting us all in danger! You didn’t see him just now. When I was talking to him his eyes started to turn. His teeth sharpened. The smallest thing angers him to the point that he can barely contain himself.” She huffed and pushed her hair back from her face. She put her hands on her hips and said in a tired, worried tone, “Look, even if he hasn’t changed but once in the last year, he’s still my brother. It hurts to see him like this, beyond the danger to the Circle. And the _whelps,_ Farkas. He can’t be allowed to take them out anymore. He scared Ria to death this time. She said he hacked the kidnappers apart, well past the point it was necessary. His bloodlust isn’t being satisfied by the wolf, so it’s trying to find other ways to sate itself, and it won’t work. Until he comes to his senses and returns to the pack or Kodlak finds his damn cure, Vilkas needs to stay in Jorrvaskr. I’m going to bring it up tonight when the Circle meets.”

“He won’t agree to that,” Farkas said with dread. Deep dread.

“We’ll get the old man to force him into it. He does whatever the Harbinger tells him to.” She then looked thoughtful for a moment. “Or…if he won’t stay here, send the newblood out with him. Edric knows what we are, so any slips on Vilkas’ part won’t be the end of the world.”

Farkas grimaced and asked, “You really think that’s a good idea? Edric can be, uh…mouthy, and it might set Vilkas off.”

“Edric can keep his mouth shut on a job. He hasn’t managed as long as he has by being unprofessional. In fact I was thinking about sending him on a job that just came in. Redbelly Mine in Shor’s Stone is infested with frostbite—”

“Gah!”

Aela rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry, you won’t have anything to do with it, you big baby. We all know better. From what Vilkas said the newblood is highly skilled. He tested him out in the yard and Edric gave him a run for his money.”

Farkas’ eyebrows rose. “Vilkas said that?” All Vilkas had said earlier was that Edric was very skilled, which was high praise, but it had been delivered in that dry way Vilkas had of saying things that left you wondering exactly what he meant.

“It was what he didn’t say. I asked him how the test went and he started tensing up right away. The whelp wounded his pride. I kept pushing him to give me specifics and he said Edric is ‘adequately skilled’. He never misses a chance to dissect others’ fighting skills, very publicly, so I can only assume Edric either bested him or nearly did. He refused to talk any further about it and when I asked if he found out anything about the whelp’s background he nearly lost it. And I was _not_ being a bitch about it either, before you ask.”

“I wasn’t going to ask!”

“Hm, I wish your brother had half your sense. We need to keep an eye on him. I’m not exaggerating when I say that I feel he’s becoming dangerous. If he keeps it up we may need to provoke him into changing and hunting, just to let off some of the pressure. Obviously our spring romp wasn’t enough.” Farkas looked uncertain but didn’t protest. “All right then, I’m going to talk to the newblood, see if the mine job is up his alley.”

“Okay.”

Farkas followed Aela out of the room, worried to death for his twin. Aela always told it like it was, so if she said Vilkas’ eyes had started to turn wolfish and his teeth lengthen then they had, and that was bad. Really bad. He had done it in full view of the whelps, and if his back hadn’t been turned it would have been a disaster. 

“Edric,” Aela called as she walked across the wood floor. The young man was leaning against the end of one of the tables, drinking an ale. He set the bottle down and stood up straight, and she looked him over then said, “Good to see you made it up here. So the old man thinks you’ve got some heart, I guess.”

“I guess,” Edric replied reluctantly.

She smirked. “You know, I heard you gave Vilkas quite a thrashing out in the yard. Is that true?"

Farkas made a sound of dread and pleaded, "Don't let my brother hear you saying that. Please."

“Oh, I won’t, I won’t. I just want to get the newblood’s side of the story.”

Edric shrugged and said, “He just got back from a job. Maybe he was tired.”

She snorted at that, while the other whelps looked surprised or irritated by the comment. It had been delivered without any boasting, but the statement itself said a lot. She motioned to the others sitting at the table. “These are your future shield-siblings: Njada, Ria, Torvar, Athis.” Edric nodded to them in greeting and they either responded in kind or stared silently. “Did Farkas show you where you’ll be sleeping?”

“Yeah. I picked the bed by the lovely Ria.” She brightened and he winked at her, making her cover her mouth to hide her giggle. Farkas was pretty sure Edric hadn't had any idea who Ria was before that, but then maybe it wasn't that hard to tell, considering Njada was glowering.

Njada made a sound of disgust and stated, “There’s a men’s side and a women’s side, idiot.”

“So what?” Edric retorted. “It’s not like there’s a curtain in between so what difference does it make?”

“It’s the idea.”

He rolled his eyes and looked away from her. “You don’t have anything I’m interested in, sister.” Njada made a sound of offense, and before she could respond he asked Aela, “Is there any work to be done? I’m eager to get started.”

“I like your spirit,” she said in approval. “You know where Shor’s Stone is?”

“Sure do.”

“The mine there is infested with frostbite spiders.” Farkas tried to hide his shudder, not altogether successfully.

“Really,” Edric said in surprise, a look of distaste on his face. “When did that happen?”

“Don’t know. Week at least I would guess, why?”

Edric shrugged. “No reason.” He saluted her. “I’ll head right out. Sounds pretty simple.”

“Where’s your gear?” Farkas asked. He’d finally noticed Edric wasn’t wearing the leather armor of the other night.

“Left it at the Bannered Mare. I travel light, so I’ll just grab my bag and go.”

“Okay.” He followed Edric to the door, and surprisingly enough Aela also followed. The young man went to leave and Aela caught his arm, startling both men.

Aela softly asked, "Did the old man fill you in on what’s going on around here?” Edric gave a curt nod. “You still willing to part with that ring?” Edric shrugged and nodded, handing it over without hesitation, and Aela clutched it tightly in her palm. “One last question: do you think you could handle Vilkas in a real fight?"

Edric’s brow furrowed and he replied just as quietly, “Do you really think it’s going to come to that?”

“It better not,” Farkas said unhappily.

Aela pressed, “Well?”

Edric glanced up at Farkas, who bit his lip at the questioning look there. For a moment he was mesmerized by the sweep of long eyelashes and slightly parted pink lips, then Edric’s expression went neutral as he looked back to Aela. Farkas tried not to feel hurt by it; after all, it was only Edric’s first day here, and maybe he was overwhelmed. It was one thing to know about the Circle, another entirely to find yourself stuck in the middle of their problems. It was a sure thing that it wasn't anything Edric had bargained for when he considered coming to Jorrvaskr.

“Yes, I can take him,” Edric murmured, “but he won’t like it.”

“If it gets to the point where it’s necessary, it won’t matter whether he likes it or not.” She rubbed her nose and went on, “No one wants Vilkas taken down, but I trust you can do it without killing him, if it comes to that. He’s having some serious issues, and I’m going to suggest to the rest of the Circle that he no longer go out on missions with the other whelps, or alone. You know what we are and can manage him if needed.”

A sour look on his face, he said, “Bad, bad idea.”

“I’m trying to spare a shield-brother’s dignity. If he’s restricted to Jorrvaskr the other whelps will want to know why, and what his problem is. If he can get out once in a while he can let off some steam.”

Edric tiredly countered, “Why doesn’t he just get out and hunt, for fuck’s sake?” Aela’s only answer was a look of smug pleasure, and she folded her arms and quirked an eyebrow as she looked up at Farkas, who sighed in forbearance. Edric rubbed his forehead and said, “Look, I don’t _care_ what you guys are. I’ve seen some shit, some really weird shit, and this doesn’t even come close to it. Yeah, the old man told me everything, or at least I assume he did, because he wanted my opinion, and when I told him that refraining from the hunt probably would make no difference and Hircine would drag your asses to the Hunting Grounds anyway he didn’t want to hear it, so I left it alone, because I didn’t want to upset him.”

“You really think that?” Farkas said with quiet dismay. Edric sighed and nodded. “Well shit. What am I supposed to do? I don’t want to give up the hunt if it’s pointless. I like hunting.”

Edric slapped him gently on the upper arm and said, “If no one else is here, I’ll go with you. I don’t mind. I’ll keep an eye out for the bad guys while you cavort around in the prairie flowers, or whatever it is you do. When you’re better.” He smiled briefly at Farkas then headed for the door, and right before it closed behind him he called back, “I mean it.”

Aela looked at the door with an expression of surprise, murmuring, “I have a good feeling about this one.” She glanced up at Farkas and added in a wry tone, “How good is your feeling, brother?”

“Aela,” he muttered. “Not now.”

“Hm, all right, I’ll do it your way, for now.” Aela sauntered off, heading for the back door.

Farkas sighed, feeling troubled but finally a little hopeful. The other members of the Circle liked Edric, well, except for Vilkas, but Vilkas didn’t like much of anyone but Farkas these days. Even when he talked to Kodlak, Vilkas was filled with a tension that was always thrumming beneath the surface, always ready to snap, even at the Harbinger. Farkas trusted Edric’s opinion, well-traveled as he seemed to be, and if he thought resisting the call of the blood was pointless then Farkas believed him. Edric seemed strong and trustworthy, someone that could be relied upon almost like another Circle member. He wasn’t an ordinary whelp, for certain, and Kodlak had to agree if he was trusting Edric with information that only the Circle knew. Farkas had the feeling he would move up more quickly than anyone could guess.

He went to the table and sat down, and when he saw the half-finished ale that Edric had left behind he picked it up and took a drink, feeling a flutter at the thought of those sweetly-shaped lips wrapped around the bottle. So he had a little crush on Edric. It wasn’t as if he could help it. The guy was…beautiful. He’d never thought of another man that way before, but that was exactly what Edric was, with those sweet eyes and thick eyelashes and soft mouth. And that hair. As he gazed at the fire and nursed his drink he wondered what Edric’s hair looked like unbound, if it was straight and silky or had some wave to it. It looked soft, fine-textured. It would be so great to undo Edric’s hair and just bury his face in it, and that sweet, spicy smell would be there, like a warm, fresh-baked sweetroll right out of the—

“Hey!” Farkas blinked and shook his head. Athis went on, “I was saying, what’s the story with the newblood?”

“Oh, uh…his name is Edric. He was an adventurer. Spent a long time in the Legion, what, ten years I think? Quit to become a Stormcloak, then he left Ulfric’s army a year ago to do his own thing.”

Njada said, “And he’s heading out on a job, just like that? On his own? His first day?”

Ria said, “You heard Aela. He beat Vilkas during the test! Can you imagine? What I wouldn’t give to have seen that!”

Torvar scoffed, “That lil’ snowberry didn’t beat anyone, least not fair and square.” Farkas made a sound of irritation, his eyes narrowing. Torvar waved him off. “C’mon, Farkas. Did you take a close look at him? Listen to him? I ain’t got nothin’ against a man who prefers riding stallions over mares, but I want to at least be able to tell it’s a man.”

Ria asked in confusion, “What’s it to you?” 

Farkas slowly rose from his seat, his fists clenched, furious. Athis slid his chair back and muttered to Torvar as he got up, “Now you’re in for it, stupid fetcher. I’m not sticking around.”

“I am,” Njada said in anticipation, leaning back in her chair with a mug in her hand.

“You watch your mouth,” Farkas growled at Torvar. The man was already well into his cups, but that didn’t excuse anything. He wasn’t going to let anyone talk about Edric that way.

Torvar clucked his tongue and said, “Ohhh, someone’s already got her staked out, eh?” He yelped as Farkas hooked his boot under the chair and yanked it out from underneath him. Torvar hit the ground with a _whoof._ Farkas tossed the chair aside then grabbed the other man by the front of his leather armor and hauled him to his feet. “Whaaaat?” Torvar said innocently.

“You…” He blinked as a wave of dizziness made him nearly topple over, and he shoved Torvar away and muttered, “Forget it. Not worth it.” Torvar kept his mouth shut, surprisingly, and Farkas took a deep breath to steady himself and made his way downstairs. 

He shut and locked his door and lay down on his bed, feeling ill all of a sudden, but it passed after a few minutes. He stayed where he was, feeling irritated with Torvar. He couldn’t understand what the drunk’s problem was with Edric. Farkas had just assumed everyone would like him. He supposed Torvar didn’t have a reason, and maybe didn’t need one. But then maybe it was jealousy. Torvar was here because his father had ordered him here as a basically useless third son; if you weren’t the Erling or Erlinga, the heir to the hold, you weren’t much use to anyone except in a case of the heir dying, or as marriage material. If Torvar had any kind of personal fortitude he would have jumped on the opportunity to become a Companion and do something meaningful with his life, and instead he did just enough to get in then pouted and complained and drank up his earnings. 

And in came Edric, who on his first day had bested Vilkas and had Kodlak’s favor and the trust of two others of the Circle and was being sent out alone on a job halfway across the country like it was nothing, something most Companions either weren't supposed to do or usually didn't want to do, even the Circle. And Edric was...well, pretty. And did sometimes speak or act just a little effeminately, but only a tiny bit. Well it wasn’t as if Edric could help it, and even if he could there was nothing wrong with it. Farkas liked all those things about him, and if Torvar didn’t watch his mouth and Edric found out, Edric could more than handle the situation on his own. Farkas supposed he had overreacted a little. Edric wasn’t his…whatever. Edric wasn’t _his,_ end of story. But if Edric was, Farkas would have wiped the floor with Torvar.

He slowly sat up, wary of another dizzy spell, realizing he shouldn’t have drunk that ale in his condition. Alcohol was off limits. He sat down at the bar and picked back up his whittling knife and the roughed-out block of wood. He wondered if Edric would stop by the Temple of Kynareth on his way out to receive the goddess’ blessing. He hoped so. Maybe Edric would even be able to help Danica do something about the dead tree. Some Breton pilgrim had come to Whiterun a couple years ago and put up a huge fuss about how he’d traveled hundreds of miles through war and storms and blah blah blah only to end up looking at a dead tree, and Danica had humored him for a few weeks then sent him on his way again, and so the Gildergreen still sat, dead and dry, a few more of its branches cracking and falling off every time a strong wind blew. Now that the war was over and her time no longer spent on constant healing Danica had returned to her main duty of caring for the tree and the temple, but the tree didn’t seem to be cooperating. Farkas wondered if Gildergreen wood was good for whittling then decided just as quickly that he didn’t want to find out. Danica would have his hide. And maybe Kynareth would too, though some folk whispered that the Divine had killed the tree herself as a lesson, one that Danica wasn’t paying attention to.

Maybe fifteen minutes later he heard his brother’s particular footsteps then the angry slamming of his door, and Farkas sighed and left him alone. He wasn’t sure where Vilkas had gone, and since there was no sound of city guards following him Farkas decided he didn’t need to know.

**Vilkas**

Vilkas rapped his knuckles on the bar, and Hulda pursed her lips at him and said, “Don’t you take that tone with me, Companion.”

“My rapping had a tone?” he retorted.

“Yes it did.”

He took a deep breath and said in a wheedling tone, “Please mum, may I have another?”

“You’re an ass when you drink.”

“According to some people I’m an ass all the time.” Hulda shook her head at him and set another bottle of mead in front of him. He muttered his thanks and popped the cork out as she called out to whoever had walked through the door then headed for the kitchen. He wasn’t drunk, wasn’t even all that tipsy, not like the robed Breton next to him who seemed to be barely sitting up straight. Vilkas couldn’t recall seeing him around Whiterun before, but the city was the center of the country and travel through it was frequent now. While that was good for trade, it was unsettling seeing new faces in town on a regular basis, with little idea of who they were or what they were really up to.

The Breton nudged him, and he growled at the man in aggravation. The man stank of liquor, his eyes and nose red, signs of a long-term, heavy drinker, and Bretons weren’t known for their tolerance for alcohol. Edric at least-- He growled again in annoyance as he realized Edric was the one who had just come through the door and was watching Vilkas and the Breton with a look of mixed amusement and dismay.

The Breton poked Vilkas in the ribs and said, “Hey, you look like someone who can hold their liquor. Howsabout a friendly contest to win a staff?”

Vilkas sneered at him. “A drinking contest? You don’t stand a chance, Breton. You’re already three sheets to the wind.” He turned back to his drink. “I have no use for a staff. I am a warrior, not a milk-drinking wizard.”

“It’s _very_ valuable,” the Breton murmured. Vilkas glanced at him, and he grinned and said, “Come now, surely you can best a wee Breton who—”

“All right, off you go.” Vilkas looked up to see Edric standing behind them, motioning for the Breton to leave. Edric said to him, “You do _not_ want to drink with this guy, Vilkas. Trust me.”

“Trust you?” Vilkas said in derision. “Right.”

“Suit yourself. When you wake up in Markarth or wherever three days from now wearing nothing but the tattered shreds of your ruined pride, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The Breton’s expression turned to a pout as he said to Edric, “You used to be fun.”

“Yeah, I used to be. But I can guarantee I’m still a lot more fun than _this_ guy,” he stated, jerking his thumb at Vilkas. Vilkas gritted his teeth as Edric walked away, going upstairs. 

The Breton held out his hand and said, “The name’s Sam. Sam Guevenne. So…are we on?” Vilkas shook his hand and looked unsure, and the Breton took out a bottle and uncorked it. “This is a special brew, very strong stuff. I’m sure a big, manly Nord like you can handle it.”

Vilkas took the bottle, and when he glanced at the Breton the man’s black eyes were glittering in anticipation. “You know Edric, I take it?” he asked.

“Is that his name?” Sam murmured. “Yeah, you can say I know him, rather _intimately._ I pride myself on a certain level of, let’s say, debauchery, but that one, well, it was certainly a night to remember.”

Vilkas made a face of disgust and raised the bottle to his lips, then he caught a whiff of the bottle’s contents. “What is this?” he asked suspiciously. He put his nose to the opening and sniffed, and his wolfish senses couldn’t put a name to a single one of the contents. He shoved the bottle back into Sam’s hands and leaned close, hissing, “You need to leave.” The man’s black eyes glimmered in a way that made Vilkas’ skin crawl, and he drew in a deep breath and smelled something that was not Breton, that was not even human. It made his upper lip twitch with a growl as he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

“Great,” Sam drawled as he drew away and recorked the bottle, sliding it into his pocket. “Should’ve known better than to try to have fun with one of Hircine’s boys.” Vilkas heard someone coming down the stairs, probably Edric, and Sam pointed his finger at him and complained, “You’re a party pooper.”

“Maybe you should choose your targets a little more wisely, Uncle Sam,” Edric answered. The Breton sniffed in disdain, standing up from the stool next to Vilkas, who still stared at Sam as if he was one second away from attacking him.

“Well I’m not exactly known for my judgment, laddie. If I’m not going to get my fun here, then you better tell me where I can. I’d hate to have to tell—”

“Riften,” Edric quickly said. “Maven Black-Briar drinks at the Bee and Barb every night. I guarantee that her reaction will be more than worth the inconvenience. But you’re going to have to be a bit more… subtle in your approach.”

“Maven,” Sam murmured, then a grin spread over his face. “Yeah, Maven!” He chuckled and strode out of the Bannered Mare like a man on a mission.

Edric snorted and shook his head, then he hoisted his pack on his back and said to Vilkas, “You can thank me later.”

Once Edric was gone, Vilkas sat there for a few seconds, trying to collect his wits, wondering what in Oblivion had just happened, or nearly happened, then he angrily threw several septims on the counter and went out after the newblood. He saw Edric at Carlotta’s stall, probably buying rations for the road, though where he was going this soon after joining was a mystery. Sam Guevenne was nowhere to be seen, and there was no scent trail either. Unsettled, Vilkas waited by the town well for Edric to pay for his purchases and stow them away. The young man had a dwarven bow strapped to his back and a steel helmet on his head, the braid trailing down out of it. Edric glanced at him as he put the pack on his shoulder then turned away and started walking down the road out of town.

“Wait,” Vilkas called in irritation, following. Edric paused and turned, and Vilkas came up to him and angrily muttered, “What the hell was all that? Where did Sam—”

“Sanguine.” Vilkas blinked in shock, his mouth falling open slightly. “That was Sanguine, Vilkas. You were being set up by a Daedric prince for something that I don’t think you would ever be able to live down.” Vilkas shuddered, horrified. Edric grumbled, “Yeah, I fell for it once, a few years ago. While I was staying at the Nightgate Inn. I woke up three days later in the Temple of Dibella with the priestesses screaming at me, naked as the day I was born and ‘Sam’ long gone.”

“He said he knew you…intimately.” Edric’s cheeks flushed a bit at that as his eyes shifted away. Vilkas’ nose wrinkled in disgust. “You fucked a Daedric prince?”

“Not that I remember. Could’ve been, but it’s more likely he fucked me. It sure as hell felt like someone did. Several someones.” Vilkas made a sound of horror, repulsed, and Edric added thoughtfully, “I might’ve fucked a Hagraven though. She was awfully upset when I broke off our engagement.”

“You sick son of a bitch!” Vilkas whispered, bewildered. Gods, this was revolting. He saw Edric’s lips quirk the slightest bit, as if the younger man was trying not to start laughing. Well this wasn't funny. Not one bit.

“I might’ve even fucked a goat that night. Like I said, I don’t really remember. The goat didn’t seem scared of me later though, so maybe I didn’t. Stella, Gelda…no, Gleda. That was her name.”

“The hagraven?”

“No, the goat. The hagraven’s name was Moira.” Edric took a deep breath and gazed off into the distance. “Lovely, she was. For a hagraven, anyway. Silkiest feathers I ever felt.”

Vilkas growled furiously and stalked off. He knew when he was being screwed with, and he didn’t goddamn well appreciate it. He stormed up to Jorrvaskr, everyone including the guards falling out of his way. All he’d wanted was a little peace and quiet away from his shield-siblings and of course along comes Edric with his bullshit. There was no way that Sam person was a Daedra, let alone a Daedric prince. Maybe the guy was trying to drug him, possibly to rob him or even kidnap him for ransom, but Vilkas wasn’t about to fall for Edric’s shit. He wasn’t stupid.

The mead hall was empty, blessedly quiet, the whelps probably outdoors training. Vilkas went downstairs, hearing Tilma’s quavering voice in Kodlak’s quarters, perhaps trying to get him to eat. He glared at Farkas’ door as he entered their hall then went into his room and slammed the door shut then went and sat on the edge of his bed, closing his eyes and balling his fists as he struggled to calm himself. It was hard, so damn hard.

He got up to pace, obsessing over the encounter in the Bannered Mare. Surely that Sam guy hadn’t been Sanguine himself. And yet he had known Edric on sight. _You used to be fun._ He’d known Edric but not what his name was. And he’d threatened to tell someone something if Edric didn’t give him a different target. Maybe tell Vilkas how thoroughly depraved Edric was. Vilkas didn’t believe a fraction of what Edric had said about his night with ‘Uncle Sam’, but there had been something fishy about the not-Breton, and that drink. And Sam had known what Vilkas was. Vilkas could only be glad that no one had been close enough to hear Sam's accusation of Vilkas' nature.

He pulled open his door and went into his brother’s room, or tried to, finding it locked. Farkas never locked his door. Vilkas banged on it, and he heard an annoyed grumble then it was opened. His twin was whittling again. “I need to talk to you,” he demanded.

“Uh, okay,” Farkas said warily. Vilkas came in and slammed the door, and Farkas sighed, “Do you have to keep slamming things?”

“What do you know about the newblood?”

Farkas sat back down on the stool and shrugged one shoulder. “He told me he joined the Legion at sixteen, and he’s going to be thirty in a few weeks, so he must’ve been in for about ten years. He quit to join Ulfric’s rebellion. He quit that when it was over and he’s adventured since then.”

“He told me he got his sword in Solstheim.”

“Huh. He probably could’ve. I don’t doubt he did. I get the feeling he’s traveled a lot. You know, Torvar seems jealous of him.”

“Why?”

Another shrug. “Don’t know. Kept saying how he’s too pretty to be a man and there’s no way he bested you in the yard.”

“He did not best me!” Vilkas protested.

“How did he do then?”

“His skills were adequate to join. I told you that earlier: he’s very skilled.”

“That’s it?” Vilkas growled, his fists clenched. “So he wasn’t just adequate.” Vilkas refused to answer; of course he hadn’t been just adequate. Farkas turned back to his whittling as he said, “Aela sent him on a job. Frostbite spiders in Redbelly Mine.”

“Again?”

“What do you mean?”

“About eighteen months ago when I went through there, Filnjar the smith said that the Dragonborn had just cleared them out of the mine.”

“Weird. Well Edric can handle them.” He shuddered. “Better him than me.”

His anger finally subsiding, Vilkas sat on Farkas’ bed and said, “I’m surprised Aela gave him a job on his first day.”

“He was feeling kind of restless, told her he was eager to get started. She said she liked his spirit. She actually seems to like him.” Farkas shrugged. “No reason anyone wouldn’t like him.”

“Except for the fact that he’s full of shit,” Vilkas spat, the anger returning. Farkas sighed and set down the knife then looked at his twin with an expression that told Vilkas he was losing his patience. “You wouldn’t believe the line of utter bullshit he just fed me. I was sitting in the Bannered Mare minding my own business when he came in, and some poncy Breton was challenging me to a drinking contest, and next thing you know Edric is telling me not to do it and saying the guy was Sanguine!”

“Like the Daedra Sanguine?” Farkas said in shock.

“The very same. The guy knew him, too. By sight, not by name, and when Edric left this ‘Sam’ told me he knew Edric _intimately._ That he ‘used to be fun’ and they had a ‘night to remember’, and I quote.”

Farkas’ jaw tensed as he turned to the bar, setting down the block of linden wood. “So? A guy that looks like that probably gets around, so what?”

Vilkas’ eyes narrowed at this twin’s reaction, and it only added to his aggravation. So the big oaf really was infatuated with the newblood. How fantastic. It went against everything the two of them had been taught since they were just pups. What in Oblivion did Farkas think, that he could carry on with a shield-sibling and no one would blink an eye? It simply wasn't done. “Edric told me he woke up in the Temple of Dibella with a sore ass and found out he was engaged to a hagraven then something about a goat named Gleda. As if I’m supposed to believe—” Farkas suddenly snorted then broke into laughter. “It isn’t funny, dammit!”

“Sure it is. It’s fucking hilarious.”

“No it isn’t! It means either he was shitting me for his own amusement or it was all true and I nearly ended up tricked by a demon! Either way it’s horrible!”

“What, you think you’re too good to get fucked by a Daedric prince and engaged to a hagraven?” Vilkas struggled with that, torn between laughing at the utter ridiculousness of it and letting go of his anger or continuing to be irritated. He honestly couldn't decide. Farkas said, “Look, maybe Edric did you a favor, warning you about the guy. Was anything weird about him?”

“Yes,” Vilkas admitted with extreme reluctance. “Whatever he tried to give me to drink smelled…wrong. He smelled wrong. He knew I was a werewolf. Then he left the inn and disappeared.”

“See? Edric doesn’t mean you any harm. He doesn’t mean anyone any harm.”

“I never said he meant actual harm.”

“He only teases you because you react to it. You make it too easy.”

“He should treat those of us in the Circle with a little respect,” Vilkas said firmly. 

Farkas rolled his eyes and leaned his elbow on the bar. “You’re the only one he’s halfway needled, Vilkas. Because you’re the only one who got pushy with him, I’m guessing. Give him a chance, all right? He saved my life. He…he’s trying to help.”

Vilkas said with difficulty, “He’s joined at a bad time.” He let out a long breath. Again, he had overreacted. He knew that, and yet when it was happening it was nearly impossible to stop. He knew Edric didn't mean anyone here any harm. The old man trusted the whelp, with that uncanny sixth sense he had with people, and that should have been enough for Vilkas. That Edric had saved Farkas' life should have made it doubly so.

“I don’t think so. Neither do Aela or Skjor. Or Kodlak, obviously. You’re the only one who thinks so.” Vilkas scowled, though not at Farkas. His twin slid off the stool and came over to sit by him, and Vilkas huffed and leaned into him. Farkas quietly said, “Kodlak might not live through the winter, brother.”

“I know,” Vilkas whispered.

“It’s his right to choose the next Harbinger. If he chooses Skjor, and he still might even with the rift between them lately, Skjor will want the pack whole again. The Circle has always held five, beastblood or not.”

Bristling, Vilkas growled, “If you think that whelp will join the Circle you’re mad. Athis has been here nine years.”

“Membership in the Circle has always been based on ability, not seniority. Edric has the ability.” Vilkas’ fists clenched as he glared at his brother, and Farkas pressed, “Does he have the ability or not?” Vilkas didn’t answer, and Farkas’ voice hardened as he demanded, “You tell it to me straight, damn it. You think I’m going to rub your nose in it, or tell anyone? What happened in the yard today?” When Vilkas hesitated Farkas huffed in annoyance and stood.

“I gave him the shitty training sword,” Vilkas muttered, leaning forward to put his forehead in his palms, his elbows on his knees. “He knew it was bad, as any warrior with an ounce of experience could tell. He proceeded to attack me with no sign it was coming. One second we were talking and the next I had to defend myself. He had no tells, the entire time. He backed me into the corner by the Skyforge and I had to roll out of it. The training shield dented so deeply it pressed into the cuff of my gauntlet. My arm went numb with the force of his blows. His expression never changed, the entire time. It was as if he was someone else while he was fighting.”

Appeased, Farkas said, “I told you about the other night, didn’t I? He came out of nowhere. He blew through seven Silver Hand like the breath of Kyne herself.”

Unsettled, Vilkas lifted his head. “Breath of Kyne,” he whispered. A chill went up his spine as he remembered Ulfric’s words almost a year ago: _Have you ever seen him fight, Companion? He is a force of nature, the very breath of Kyne._ But…it couldn’t be. There was no way Edric could be Dragonborn. Danica had been very clear that there was no possible way to fix the damage that the Dragonborn had taken in Sovngarde. There was no better healer in Skyrim than her and she had been adamant about it. If Vilkas hadn’t seen the wreck that the man was with his own eyes it would be tempting to think Edric really was the Dragonborn. So many things seemed to fit. But Vilkas had seen the ruin of his face, the almost crippling limp, and it had still been present six months after that. The Dragonborn had clearly been in pain even though he hadn’t physically struck the dragon. There was simply no possible way that Edric could be Dragonborn.

“He didn’t take a scratch. They never got anywhere near him. He wasn’t even winded. It was like… like he danced through them. I thought he was a girl at first, the way he moved, well, and the hair.” Farkas sighed wistfully. “I wonder how long it took his hair to grow like that.”

Vilkas said in quiet warning, “Skjor told me what you were doing, Farkas. With Edric, when they found you.”

His cheeks reddening, Farkas countered, “Edric didn’t know. He was asleep. So was I, we just ended up…that way. It was warm, and…he smelled good. Like…cinnamon. He smelled like the porridge Tilma made for us when we were kids. Warm and spicy and…good. That’s all it was.”

Vilkas was not at all convinced of that, and it hurt that Farkas was lying to him. It was so obvious that his brother was smitten with Edric that it made Vilkas want to grab his twin and shake him until his teeth rattled. Relationships between Companions were not allowed, and that was that, regardless of the genders involved, and it was completely inappropriate for a member of the Circle to bed a whelp. It was a violation of protocol. It could lead to a whole host of problems that the Circle did _not_ need right now. And then there was the simple fact that Farkas was lying. That maybe he'd been lying to Vilkas all along. Farkas fidgeted uncomfortably under his brother’s stare for a moment then returned to the bar to take up his whittling again, probably thinking he was being very nonchalant about it. Well he wasn’t. Vilkas wasn’t fooled one bit. “Well then,” he said casually, standing, “I suppose I will see you tonight when the Circle meets.”

“Uh, sure.”

He went to the door and opened it, then he paused and looked back at his brother, seeing Farkas was staring at the block of wood, his jaw clenched. “When you are better, we should visit Falkreath again. I would like to see Narri. I’ve been thinking lately, about our future. She would be a good match. Kodlak is certain a cure is on the horizon, and we aren’t getting any younger, you know.” Farkas grimaced, almost as if he was in pain, and it set Vilkas’ blood to boiling. It was the first time Farkas hadn’t been agreeable to the visit. But he didn’t say no, and Vilkas left it at that, leaving the room and closing the door behind him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Part 3 of 3

** Farkas - 12th of Heartfire, 4E205 **

The moment Farkas entered the Underforge he knew trouble was brewing, but then he had known it since seeing Vilkas storm away from Aela earlier that day. Vilkas was standing behind the font, practically trembling with rage, the air rank with the smell of stress and anger, mixed with the faint scent of sickness coming from their Harbinger, who was leaning heavily on Farkas and Skjor as they led him into the cave.

“Now Vilkas,” Kodlak wheezed as they drew close, “you are already on the defensive and no one has said a word yet.” He narrowed his eyes at Aela. “Have you, sister?”

“No I have not,” she said crisply. “I only have so much breath and don’t believe in wasting it.”

“Hm.”

Farkas unfolded a camp stool for the old man and Skjor eased Kodlak down into it then moved away, going to stand between Vilkas and the exit from the Underforge. Farkas saw Vilkas eye Skjor with suspicion, and when Farkas took up a similar position behind Kodlak to guard the door Vilkas snarled. Farkas didn't blame him for getting upset, because this was exactly what it looked like. Farkas was upset about it too, necessary as it was.

“What the hell is this!” Vilkas shouted.

“You know what it is, brother,” Aela stated. “After today’s display…you know that this is.”

Skjor added, “You’re endangering the Circle. You’re becoming a danger to the whelps.”

“Bullshit,” Vilkas spat. Farkas felt a pang of grief and worry as his twin’s pupils constricted and his canines extended. “I can’t believe this…this betrayal! You’re all turning against me!”

Kodlak said sternly, “That is not at all what is happening here, son. We do this out of love and the bloodbond we all share. No matter that we have given up the hunt, we are still part of this pack, this family.”

“You told me to do this!” Vilkas cried. "You told me to give it up!"

“I know, but—”

“It isn’t my fault!”

“No one is implying it is,” Skjor said, not unkindly. “But if you’re going to continue in this…folly, then we need to find a way to manage your beast.”

Aela stated, “He needs to change and hunt. End of story.”

Vilkas growled, “And I say I will not. This is what I have decided and by Ysmir that is what I will do!”

She spat, “Fine, be a fool, but if you insist on this then you will no longer leave Jorrvaskr’s grounds.” Vilkas bared his teeth at her, his lips pulling back from teeth that were all starting to sharpen now, his skin beginning to sprout tufts of dark fur. “Yes, go ahead and change then! Perhaps it will buy you a few more months of sanity, brother!”

“Aela!” Kodlak barked. “That is enough!”

“He is dangerous!” she insisted. “Did Ria tell you what he did on their last job? How even once he had the targets down he continued hacking at them? She said she nearly vomited from the carnage. He almost changed in front of the whelps today, right in the mead hall. He cannot be allowed to leave Jorrvaskr any longer.”

Farkas bit his lip as Vilkas made a whining sound and put his hands in his hair, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought to control himself. “Please brother,” he pleaded. “Just take the ring.”

“No,” Vilkas whined.

Skjor said with quiet firmness, “If you refuse the ring then you’ll have to stay here. Even here you’re not safe if you can’t control yourself in front of the younglings. If you turned in front of them we would have to destroy either you or all of them, and either way there’s risk of exposing the entire Circle. Don’t put us in the position of deciding which shield-sibling to kill.”

Vilkas let his hands fall and Farkas swallowed the lump in his throat at the torment there. “Please Vilkas,” he whispered. His twin rubbed his eyes, looking exhausted and near tears.

Kodlak coughed then said to Farkas’ twin, “Vilkas, come here.” Vilkas hesitated, fidgeting, his hands bunched into fists, then he took halting steps to the Harbinger. The old man held his hand out to him and Vilkas flexed his fingers then took it, and Kodlak pulled him down to kneel at his level. He kept hold of Vilkas’ hand as he said in a rough voice, “I’m sorry, son. I’m sorry for putting this on you.” Vilkas shook his head, his jaw clenched as he looked away. “The ring…I do not blame you for not wanting to wear Hircine’s badge. But it is not surrender. It is a tool, and only for now. The ring fell into our hands as a gift.”

“I refuse to be obligated to that whelp!” Vilkas said through gritted teeth.

“Why?” Vilkas refused to answer, or maybe didn’t even know why. Kodlak stated, “Edric will be a full shield-brother before much longer. He needs no training, other than to be taught our history and our code. When I die…” He took a deep breath, or tried to, and broke into hacking coughs that left his lips red with blood. Vilkas made a sound of grief and laid his head on the old man’s knee. “When I die, Skjor will follow me as Harbinger.” The one-eyed warrior let out a long breath and nodded slowly. Farkas wasn't surprised. There really was no one else. “I can only ask that no others be given the blood.”

Skjor shook his head and said, “I can’t make that promise, old friend.”

“Will you at least swear to make them understand the choice they are making?”

Aela stated, “The choice has always been clear: take the blood or no admittance to the Circle. That is the only choice that matters.”

“No,” Kodlak said angrily. “That is no choice at all. Would you leave them ignorant of the full implications of their choice? At the least you must admit that by taking the beastblood you are denying a member of the Circle the chance to reach the Hall of Valor. If you would hide that fact from a warrior then perhaps your honor should be called into question, Huntress.”

She glared at him for a long moment, the two of them locked into a silent battle of wills, then she lowered her eyes. “Of course not, Harbinger,” she muttered.

“Hm.” Kodlak looked away from her then back to Vilkas, still holding the younger man’s hand. Vilkas lifted his head, feeling the old man’s gaze. “Will you take the ring? Only until a cure is found. It will put you in control of your transformations. There will no longer be any danger of the beast gaining control of you.” Vilkas’ mouth twisted as he wrestled with the decision.

Farkas came over to kneel by his brother, and he whispered, “Please Vilkas. Do it for me. I hate worrying about you all the time.”

“Do it for you,” Vilkas replied with resentment. Farkas nodded, hopeful. Vilkas licked his lips, and after a tense moment he said, “Fine, I will do it, but I will ask you to do something for me later in return, and you will do it, without question.”

“Anything!” Farkas agreed with a nod. Of course he would. He heard Kodlak grumble as he let go of Vilkas’ hand, and when Farkas looked up at the Harbinger the old man was staring at Vilkas with narrowed eyes, his expression cold and disapproving. Kodlak had always had a way of seeing into people, of knowing what was in their hearts, and he obviously didn’t like what he was seeing in Vilkas right now. Well Farkas didn’t care, as long as his brother wore the ring and wasn’t in danger of being put down or hurting the whelps. He would do anything at all to avoid that.

Vilkas stood and held out his hand, saying, “Give me the ring.” Aela came forward and held it out to him, and he snatched it from her and shoved it onto his right ring finger. He blinked and took a deep breath, looking shocked.

“Feel better?” Farkas asked expectantly.

“I…yes.” Vilkas looked at his hand, frowning slightly as he stared at the wolf’s head, then he blew out a long breath and let his hand fall.

“Great,” Farkas said happily, and his twin nodded, suddenly looking embarrassed. Vilkas had no reason to be. It wasn’t his fault his beast was so hard to control.

Kodlak cleared his throat and looked at Skjor. “So,” he said gravely, “back to the matter of the Circle’s future. I want you to swear that any new members of the Circle will be given a choice as to whether to take the blood or not.” Skjor didn’t answer right away. “You risk diminishing the Companions even further than we currently are. We were once fifteen strong, when I came here as a young man. I have watched those intended for the Circle leave Jorrvaskr and never return. Strong, capable warriors who would have been an asset to us, gone forever, because they didn’t wish to become a beast. Would you really turn away such a person?”

“They always have the option of staying a whelp,” Aela said in contempt.

“The kind of folk we want to join the Circle would never be satisfied with that, and so they leave when they refuse the blood. Why can there not be some kind of compromise? If they wish to sell their souls to a Daedra, then by all means, let them, but if they do not, would you turn them away?”

“Are we talking about someone in particular?” Skjor asked in a mock thoughtful tone.

“No,” Vilkas stated angrily. “Not Edric. I will not have some stranger walk into this hall and pass by someone who has worked towards it for nine years.”

Aela said, “Athis hasn’t been ‘working towards it’. Athis came here expecting nothing, wanting only the honor and glory of being a Companion. I have _never_ heard him say he wanted to join the Circle, unlike that halfwit Torvar.”

“Even an elf can sometimes have the heart of a Nord,” Skjor stated. “I like Athis well enough. He’s a solid Companion and shield-brother. He even helps train Ria and Njada in small blades when they can scrape up the coin for it. But he has no fire. No ambition. Coin in his pocket and a roof over his head and the name Companion seem to be enough for him. He won’t train the others unless they pay him and he doesn’t want the responsibility of any kind of leadership.”

“That isn’t someone I want in the Circle,” Aela said with a shake of her head. “I like the elf well enough too, but—”

Vilkas said in offended bewilderment, “Why are we discussing this when the newblood only arrived today? This is fucking ridiculous!”

Skjor said, “Maybe because we all see something in him you can’t. Or won’t.”

“And maybe I see something in him none of the rest of you will allow yourselves to see.”

Aela stated, “Your vision hasn’t exactly been unclouded lately, brother.”

“He is hiding something!” Vilkas protested. “I saw it in his eyes, out in the yard. How do we know he isn’t wanted somewhere? My idiot brother meets some pretty stranger in a field and we’re supposed--”

Farkas launched himself to his feet with a deep growl of warning, but Kodlak grabbed his wrist to stop him. “No,” Kodlak murmured. Farkas subsided, his body tense with anger. Kodlak let go of him and looked up at Vilkas. “Would it make any difference to you if I knew all about the lad?” Vilkas’ eyes slid over to the old man then they dropped. “Yes Vilkas, he is hiding something. He’s hiding a great many things. Most of what he is hiding is pain, and I will not have it added to in this house by someone I have considered a son.” Vilkas folded his arms and looked away, seeming embarrassed. “My body might be rotting away, but my mind is still sound, boy. I know everything about Edric. And that _is_ his real name, before you question that too.”

“I was not going to,” Vilkas said in a small voice.

“I swore to the lad that I would keep his secrets, until he feels ready to divulge them. Yes, if you must know, he is wanted, but by the Empire, as a deserter, like the hundreds of other Nord Legionnaires who defected to Ulfric’s banner. I hardly think the Empire is going to send a bounty hunter after one defector considering the much larger problems they have on their hands. Edric came to this hall seeking sanctuary. A home. Family. It is beyond me why you feel so threatened by him.” Vilkas’ eyes lifted to his brother briefly then he huffed and looked away again, but to Farkas' relief the others didn't seem to notice, or didn't let on that they did. “Edric holds his honor dear. He is not a criminal and does not tolerate criminals. He is a wounded soul who only wishes to get on with his life.”

“Fine,” Vilkas muttered.

Satisfied, Kodlak looked up at Skjor, then Aela. “Now. The Silver Hand.” Aela and Skjor glanced at each other, and he said to them, “You’ve been provoking them, haven’t you. These ‘jobs’ you’ve been taking together aren’t jobs, are they? You’ve provoked them and now they’re at our very doorstep.”

Aela angrily said, “They have been hunting our kind all across Skyrim. Torturing our brothers and sisters in the blood, murdering them. Why should their offenses go unpunished?”

“Because you will end up pushing them into coming here, to Jorrvaskr. You will push them into exposing what we are. Edric found out what we are over two years ago from cleaning out three separate Silver Hand camps that he had taken for bandits. What if it had been someone else? What if it had been someone who panicked and took the documents to the nearest Jarl, or the High King? Or the Dawnguard? Isran won’t care that we worked for him. He considers werewolves one step above vampires, and he would like to find a new challenge to turn his attention to. We have our allies of a sort, but they would not be able to protect us.”

Skjor said, “We could protect ourselves just fine if we pulled the pack back together and rooted out the problem.”

“And yet that is not going to happen. I have made my choice, as has Vilkas. And Farkas. Or has he?”

Farkas fidgeted as the old man looked up at him and the other three’s silver eyes turned to him. “Uh,” he murmured. “Well…”

“You had better,” Vilkas said through his teeth. “You had damn well better.”

“It is his choice to make,” Kodlak counseled. "Let him make it on his own."

Farkas hesitated, fidgeting restlessly, then he said in a halting tone, “It’s just…I like the hunt. My beast doesn’t bother me. Sovngarde sounds nice, but…well Edric says—”

“Edric says!” Vilkas yelled. “Who gives a shit what Edric says!”

“I do!”

“And why is that?” he retorted snidely. “Why don’t you tell us all just why that is, brother?”

Farkas made a scoffing sound of embarrassed anger. He could feel his face warming and couldn’t stop it.

Kodlak said in angry disbelief, “What the hell is wrong with you, Vilkas?” The twins stared at each other furiously then Vilkas growled and looked away. “Edric gave me his…educated opinion on the matter. He has had dealings with many Daedra in his travels, but our situation is unique. He politely gave me his take on it then let it go. This is our choice to make.”

Skjor said in a tired tone, “Look, I respect your stance on this, brother. I once looked forward to the pleasures of Sovngarde, before taking the blood. But the beast is _now._ This is our lives, now. I have no problem knowing that I go to the Hunting Grounds when I die. Neither does Aela. Knowing what the choice would be, it is still one I would have made. It’s one that some people will still make, given the chance.”

“Then that is their choice, if they are given the chance to make it.”

The two older men gazed at each other for a long moment, then Skjor sighed and nodded. “Fine. When I become Harbinger, I will make any new members of the Circle aware of the consequences of their choice to take the blood, or not. If they refuse they will still be allowed to join the Circle. I swear this on my honor as a Companion.” Kodlak closed his eyes and let out a long breath of relief then smiled and nodded. “If Edric joins the Circle, that will also be his choice to make.”

“I can only hope that the grief he carries does not push him into making choices he will regret.”

“Even if it does, it will still be his choice. Maybe by that time his pain will lessen to the point where it won’t be an influence.”

Farkas frowned in confusion as the two old warriors talked. He didn’t entirely get what they were talking about. Maybe Kodlak knew everything about Edric, which was good to know, but Farkas hadn’t thought that Skjor did. It was sad hearing them talk about Edric’s grief and pain. He could only hope that one day Edric trusted him enough to tell him about it. Maybe Edric had lost someone he loved in the war, like so many had. The war had been over for nearly a year though. Wasn’t that enough time to get over someone? Farkas had no idea. He hadn’t fallen in love since he was in his early twenties, and at that age you moped over it for a week or two then moved on. He wasn’t sure Vilkas had ever fallen in love. He never let anyone close enough for long enough for it to happen, and not for lack of wanting.

He glanced at his twin and Vilkas was still stewing in his own temper, staring past all of them with his arms folded, scowling. Farkas let out a silent sigh, feeling sad and torn. He still didn’t know what to do about his beast. He would have given up the hunt if Edric hadn’t offered to go out with him and protect him. He wouldn’t have been able to resist Aela’s mating heat in the spring any more than Vilkas could, but the rest of the time he would’ve had to find some way to manage, and there wasn’t another ring. Kodlak hadn’t changed at all in a year, but he was distracted by his sickness, and at this point the change might kill him. Farkas didn’t think he would have the trouble Vilkas did, but he didn’t want to have to struggle. The sleepless nights were annoying, but if what Edric said was true then Farkas could still get cured someday, if or when a cure was found, and the time in between wouldn’t matter.

As the others continued discussing the Silver Hand, Farkas felt relieved that no one asked him again about his choice. He stayed still and silent, not even risking a glance at his twin, afraid he’d find those silver eyes exactly like this own staring back at him with resentment and even betrayal. Better to not look at all. Edric would be back from Shor’s Stone in a week or so and Farkas might be completely better by then and ready to hunt. It would be so great to go hunting with him. It would be weird to change in front of someone who wasn’t also a werewolf, and to hunt in front of him, but it would be interesting to see how he reacted. Edric hadn’t been disgusted with him, hadn’t been scared of him in beast form. But that had been when Farkas was lying on the ground, weak and vulnerable. Farkas still remembered that soft voice, the touch of his hand, and the touch of his hand again the next morning, warm and slightly rough.

He sighed happily, thinking of Edric and his sweetroll hair and grass-green eyes, that boyish voice and the way he smirked when he smiled. He wondered where Edric was right now, if he had a horse of his own or had thought to borrow one of the horses the Companions kept stabled outside the city with Skulvar Sable-Hilt. He’d probably be somewhere near Valtheim Towers, camping for the night. The ruin was frequently inhabited by bandits, but Farkas doubted they would give Edric any trouble if that was the case, any more than they would give Farkas or any of the rest of the Circle any trouble. Edric would easily clean the place out and have a dry, warm place to sleep overnight.

Kodlak’s grasp on his wrist broke him out of his daydreaming, and he shook himself and leaned down to help the old man out of his seat. It was upsetting to feel how frail he was, when for so much of the twins’ life he had been a big, robust man. Vilkas strode past all of them and was first out of the Underforge, probably still angry, and it made Farkas wonder if he’d missed something. He hadn’t heard any yelling. Skjor took Kodlak’s other arm while Aela picked up the camp stool and followed them inside Jorrvaskr, where Vilkas had already retreated to his quarters to sulk or brood or whatever he was currently in the mood to do.

The other older warrior helped Farkas get Kodlak into bed, and Skjor stared at Kodlak for a moment then gently gripped his hand and left. Farkas moved to do so as well but Kodlak caught his hand.

“Stay for a moment, son,” he whispered. Farkas nodded and Kodlak patted the side of the bed. He tried to stifle the cough that came on and couldn’t, and when it was over he licked the blood off his lips and whispered, “Water.” Farkas quickly went out to the sitting area and poured the Harbinger a goblet of water and helped the old man sit up to drink it. He laid Kodlak back into the bed and Farkas sat down at his side, not even trying to hide the look of sadness on his face. “You’re a good man, Farkas.”

“I try to be, Harbinger,” he answered haltingly.

Kodlak shook his head. “No, you simply are. You have a tender heart. Perhaps that was why Jergen was gentler with you than he was with Vilkas. Vilkas has always had to struggle against everything, never accepts anything at face value.”

Farkas nodded, knowing that quite well, remembering their father at his wit’s end with Vilkas, who questioned every order Jergen gave, never missed an opportunity to tell him he was wrong, until by the time Jergen left the two fought constantly. Farkas thought they had been too much alike. He’d said that to Vilkas once as teens and his twin hadn’t spoken to him for two full days, ignoring his existence even though they’d shared a room. Vilkas was so bitter about Jergen that he refused to even admit the man had been their father, even though anyone with eyes could see that they looked just like him. Jergen had tried not to play favorites but Farkas knew that he had been the preferred twin, simply because he didn’t make things hard. It wasn’t as if Vilkas could help it though.

“Your brother doesn’t handle change well. Which you of course know. There have been many changes here recently, with many more to come. I fear Vilkas will not make them easy on anyone, and he allows no one close enough anymore to help him manage. The ring will only keep him from transforming against his will. It won’t improve his temperament. Only the cure will.”

“I just…I worry. That until then he’ll do something. Make too many people angry with him, or scared of him. He’ll push everyone to the point where even after he’s cured there’s so much resentment that there won’t be any fixing it.”

“Then it will be on Vilkas to fix it. Not you. Your brother has held you too close for too long. You’re the easy way out for him. It keeps him from having to make an effort on his own. You two need to find your own way.” He took a deep breath, coughed slightly then sighed. “This…animosity he feels towards Edric. It troubles me. I know Jergen didn’t handle the boy well and was too harsh with him, and then on the other end of things Tilma cosseted and spoiled the two of you. I took Vilkas in hand the best I knew how, and while I like to think he would be even worse if I hadn’t, I still wonder lately where I went wrong.”

Feeling defensive of his brother, Farkas said, “Vilkas is a good person.”

“Yes, deep down. But until he’s cured it’s going to be hard to remember that.” He rubbed his eyes. “I had hoped he would respond better to Edric.”

“I don’t understand why he doesn’t. Everyone else seems to like Edric, even Aela. I don’t see why anyone wouldn’t like him.” Even as much as he loved his twin, he very clearly saw why people were wary of Vilkas, even before this last year. And he supposed Torvar didn’t like Edric either, but then Torvar was an ass. A jealous ass.

“Well, Edric is a little…different.”

“Plenty of men like other men.” As soon as the words left his mouth he could tell how defensive they had sounded.

Kodlak laughed and patted Farkas’ knee. “Oh no. No son, I didn’t mean that. No one judges that up here, and not much anywhere else. Some folk are simply born that way, as Dibella dictated, under the stars that Arkay chose for them at birth. Edric is very comfortable with what he is, as anyone should be. It’s wrong to pretend you’re something you are not, and even more wrong of another to decide for you.”

Farkas whispered, “I guess so.” Of course the Harbinger was right. There didn’t seem to be any secret knowledge in the old man’s eyes, but it wasn’t hard for Farkas to guess who the comment was really directed at. He huffed unhappily, thinking again of Edric. He hadn’t been so…enamored of anyone before. Enchanted. All the things that drew Farkas seemed to repel Vilkas. He had the terrible feeling that Vilkas knew exactly how he felt about Edric, how he felt in general, and was going to make it hard. Well, he’d known that all along and that was why he’d hidden it. And no one should have to hide what they really were, and it was unfair of Vilkas to try to make him into something he wasn’t. It was selfish. And it hurt, because Vilkas had never been selfish before. Not like this.

“What I meant was, Edric is different from any other recruit that has come through our doors. Vilkas is unsettled because he has nothing Edric wants or needs, or so he thinks. Edric could use a brother, but I’m starting to think Vilkas won’t allow it,” Kodlak said with regret. “I wish Edric had come to us sooner, but…I suppose that simply wasn’t possible.” He patted Farkas’ knee again. “It’s kind of you to defend your brother, however don’t let him rule you. I know it’s hard, but he isn’t himself lately. Or he’s too much himself, rather. Edric could use your friendship. Your kind heart could help soothe his broken one.”

“So…he lost someone.”

“Yes, someone he loved very dearly. He lost him near the end of the war, a fellow soldier. It wounded him so deeply he didn’t want to go on living. It…” He took a deep breath, his eyes misting over, then went in a rough voice, “Even thinking about it rips my heart to shreds. Such a wound takes time to heal. Sometimes it never heals.”

Farkas nodded, looking down at his hands, his chest aching. So that was the sadness that never seemed to entirely leave those sweet green eyes. It had been a year though. Surely that was long enough to get over the grief. Maybe before had been so bad that this was an improvement, who knew. Well, Kodlak probably knew. Maybe Skjor did too. Maybe Edric’s coming here now meant he was ready to get on with his life, albeit reluctantly. But then he had shown up right before lunch and had taken a job first chance he got and taken off again, instead of sticking around to get to know everyone. In hindsight that wasn’t the best sign. He had been willing to help though, handing over the ring for Vilkas without hesitation. He had kept Vilkas from getting drunk with a Daedra. Both things unfortunately had only seemed to feed Vilkas’ irrational dislike of the younger man.

Kodlak went on, “Be a friend to Edric and in time he will return that friendship, and perhaps after that cure is found he and Vilkas will come to an understanding.”

“I hope so.”

“One last thing. About your brother.”

“Yeah?” Farkas replied warily.

“This promise he extracted from you. Do _not_ let him make you sell your soul for it.”

“He wouldn’t do that!”

“That he made you swear to it at all is wrong of him. I fear he will use that promise against you one day, and you will both end up suffering for it. You should be true to yourself, son. Your twin is not your keeper. Don’t let yourself get turned into his keeper either.”

“I won’t,” he promised.

He bid the old man goodnight and left, heading to his room. He heard the sound of muffled punches in Vilkas’ room as he hit a training dummy. Farkas hadn’t thought Vilkas had one in there, but maybe he had dragged one in at some point and Farkas didn’t know it; Vilkas was much more likely to go into Farkas’ room than vice versa. His twin’s compulsive tidiness got on his nerves within seconds of going in there, seeing things neatly arranged on his desk, the books lined up perfectly on the shelves, his armor always set up properly on its stand no matter how tired Vilkas was. Everything was completely orderly and completely under control. Farkas thought there was probably some kind of point being made there.

He went into his messy, comfortable room and shut the door. It was close to midnight but he wasn’t tired, his mind unsettled, so he sat down at the bar and picked up the linden wood. He was making such good progress that he might even get it done before Edric returned. He knew Edric would appreciate it. He could just imagine the look of surprise on that sweet face, how his lips would part just so and his eyes light up. Maybe Farkas could get a real smile out of him, maybe make Edric happy for just a little while. Kodlak wanted them to be friends, and Farkas was more than willing. He wasn’t really supposed to be anything more than that, so it would have to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While Hircine's Ring really only seems to give you the power to transform multiple times a day, I've decided to give it a bit more _umph_ than that. The cursed version supposedly makes you transform at random (something I haven't personally experienced), so I choose to assume in this story that the cleansed ring does the opposite and lets werewolves have complete control over their transformations.


	8. Chapter 8

** Vilkas – 24th Heartfire, 4E205 **

Balancing a lap tray on one arm, Vilkas knocked on the Harbinger’s door in warning then opened it, and he nearly dropped the whole damn thing when he saw Edric sitting on the edge of Kodlak’s bed. He was wearing the steel armor he’d had on when he left but looked cleaner than he should for the length of time he had been gone. The young man had a tattered leatherbound journal in his hands and seemed to be reading to the Harbinger. Edric snapped the small book shut and glanced up at Vilkas before looking away, acting as if he had been caught at something.

Vilkas fought to not sneer as he said in a tight voice, “So you are back. I had no idea.” Edric had been gone for twelve days, much longer than the job should have required. Vilkas had been upstairs getting Kodlak’s dinner and should have been able to see him come in.

“I had business not far from Shor’s Stone,” Edric stated.

“What kind of business?”

“My business.”

Vilkas grumbled angrily and Edric sighed and moved to leave, but Kodlak grabbed his wrist and kept him there. The old man said, “No. I am not done talking to you.” A smug expression crossed Vilkas’ face, and Kodlak said to him, “Edric was telling me about some of his adventures. Solstheim, specifically.”

“I see,” Vilkas muttered. He stood there helplessly with the tray, feeling like an ass for being pleased for that brief moment by the notion that Edric was getting dressed down for being gone for so long. Things had been calm again the last nearly two weeks, and in hindsight Vilkas could see how he had overreacted to nearly everything the day Edric had arrived. The ring had made the blood easier to bear, without the constant anxiety of fearing an involuntary change weighing on him. Edric and Kodlak looked at each other for a long moment, something unspoken seeming to pass between them, and their expressions were so similar it was unsettling. As if they were thinking the same thing without having to say a word. Edric then dropped his eyes and helped the Harbinger sit up in bed. While he did so Vilkas couldn’t help asking, “Does your business take away from the Companions’ business?”

“Not at all,” Edric assured him.

“Hmph. Fine.” Edric stared at him, his tongue in his cheek and mouth open as if he was on the verge of a smart-assed retort, then the young man moved out of his way so Vilkas could set the tray on Kodlak’s lap. Vilkas fought not to growl at the smell of alcohol emanating from Edric but was unable to help wrinkling his nose at it and turning his head away. He didn’t know how Kodlak could tolerate it in close quarters.

“Is Farkas okay now?”

The quiet question soothed his irritation as he answered, “Yes, Danica said he was fit for duty several days ago. He is currently on a job in Haafingar with Athis. He should be back in a few days.”

“So…is there any work to be done?”

Vilkas frowned at him. “You just returned.”

“I like to stay busy.”

Kodlak poked at his food and said, “Surely you can stay until Farkas returns. He would be disappointed if you were gone again when he got back.”

Vilkas frowned as Kodlak and Edric looked sideways at each other, and finally Edric’s jaw tensed as he nodded. Kodlak let out a barely noticeable breath of relief and began to eat. Vilkas stayed where he was, wary of breaking the silence that while somewhat awkward was peaceful. And Kodlak was eating. Actually eating, and seeming pleased. Vilkas knew it was because of Edric, because the guy had given in to the Harbinger. The knowledge that Kodlak knew everything about Edric while the rest of them knew so little was absolutely maddening. Reassuring, in a way, that they didn’t have a complete and possibly dangerous unknown in their midst, but aggravating. Vilkas didn’t appreciate mysteries except in books.

He licked his lips and glanced at Edric, and the other man was staring at him. Studying him. Edric blinked slowly and Vilkas found himself bemusedly noticing that his eyes were very green, the deep green of Falkreath pines, with tiny flecks of lighter green, like spring grass right after it had sprouted on the plains. His eyelashes were ridiculously long for a man’s, thick, so long that they brushed just below his eyebrows when he looked up through them. Edric blinked again and Vilkas’ lip twitched as a surge of anger went through him, and he muttered, “What are you staring at, whelp?”

Edric shrugged one shoulder. “A man who’s handsome when he isn’t grouchy. And dirty.”

Furious, Vilkas hissed, “I told you the first day here to stop that!”

“I’m not flirting with you, wolf, just stating my opinion. You asked; I answered.”

Vilkas growled at him, baring his teeth, and Edric gazed up at him calmly, unimpressed. He asked Kodlak in a tense voice, “Do you need anything else, Master?”

“No, thank you, Vilkas,” Kodlak answered, “and as I’ve told you before, your only master is yourself.”

“A poor one,” he spat, turning on his heel and leaving the room, slamming the door behind him before he could stop himself. _Do you have to keep slamming things?_ His twin’s voice came back to him, exasperated. He stood there collecting himself then heard Edric question the Harbinger, once the old man stopped coughing.

“You’re sure I’m welcome here?”

Kodlak answered, “Yes Edric, I am. Now be a good lad and tell me more tales of Solstheim.” He paused then added with disapproval, “As soon as the walls don’t have ears.”

Vilkas grumbled and walked away. It was easy to forget that Kodlak still had his wolfish senses, even as sick as he was. He strode down the hall, wishing he had simply sent the whelp out on another job, both to get him out of Jorrvaskr and to make sure Edric was gone when Farkas returned. It was a selfish wish, and he knew it. He wasn’t that far gone. Companions were never sent right back out like that, even ones who seemed to think they—

“Bah.” He stopped in the stairwell going up to the mead hall, laying his forehead against the cool stone. He closed his eyes and counted to ten. Sometimes lately that worked. He would take whatever he could get, especially now that Edric was here. And Farkas was not.

Farkas had taken a job as soon as he was cleared by Danica, and Vilkas knew damn well that his twin had done it to avoid him. Avoid the issue of Narri. Of their plans. Of their future. Vilkas knew that the big oaf’s face would light up the second he saw Edric, while it had grown tense and unhappy when Vilkas had mentioned Narri nearly two weeks ago. Farkas had never been even slightly reluctant to spend his free time with Vilkas until the whelp had shown up. Until Farkas had sniffed the man and his bedroll and rubbed his cheeks on it. It was beyond Vilkas how the newblood could smell good when all Vilkas smelled on him was the reek of booze.

He huffed in hurt irritation and headed upstairs then out onto the porch, where Aela was standing with Njada in front of one of the archery targets, looking to be in the midst of a somewhat intense discussion.

“But I’ve heard the rumors,” Njada protested. “About you and Skjor.”

Aela flicked the other woman’s earlobe, making her yelp and cover it. “And if you want to keep having ears, you’ll pretend you didn’t, whelp,” she said in annoyance.

“What’s the problem? Is it not allowed?”

“It isn’t exactly forbidden. You put men and women in close quarters and things…happen, and the blood of warriors runs hot. But even so, it’s not true. So that’s that.”

“Huh. If you say so.”

Aela rolled her eyes. “Pull your arrows and get back to it.” She sighted her shield-brother, Vilkas having taken a seat at the table on the porch. She took a seat across from him, and he raised an eyebrow at her while he served himself the last piece of apple pie.

“The newblood is back,” he stated, trying not to mutter it.

“Is that so? Took him long enough. Was there a problem?”

He was only partly successful at suppressing a sneer as he replied, “He said he had his own business to take care of while he was in the area.”

“Huh. One can hope that he took care of our business first.” Vilkas grunted, shoving a piece of pie in his mouth as he stared past her. “Where is he now?”

“Talking to the old man, in private.”

“Again?” Vilkas shrugged. “That’s between them I suppose, but Kodlak seems especially invested in Edric.”

His eyes widened in mock surprise. “You think?” Aela pitched across the table and cuffed him, and he made a sound of offense and shoved her hand away. “He was supposed to check in with you when he returned. You gave him the job.”

“Yes, well I neglected to tell him that fact. He left too quickly.”

Vilkas nodded curtly, giving Edric a pass on that. “He asked me if there was more work, and he had just returned.”

Aela shook her head and picked up a bottle of mead, popping the cork out. “As if he’s trying to avoid hanging around here for any length of time.”

“Exactly.”

“I don’t blame him. Ysgramor himself wouldn’t have the patience to deal with this rabble. If he’s used to being on his own this place probably gets on his nerves. I know it does mine.” She put her chin in her hand. “He’s skittish. He doesn’t want to be here, I can tell.”

“Then why is he?” Vilkas asked in surprised annoyance.

“Farkas said that Edric told him that he had promised someone he would do it. He also said that the old man told him Edric had lost his lover in the war. Maybe that was who he had promised, who knows.”

“Huh. I…did not know that.” It made him feel another surge of hurt and aggravation that his twin had said nothing to him about it. He supposed he hadn’t exactly made Edric a comfortable topic of conversation, but it still was upsetting that once again Farkas was hiding things from him. Like a child.

Aela shrugged. “Nearly everyone who fought lost someone. At least he followed his convictions and got in there and fought. Shame though, losing his man like that. I can see something broken in his eyes.”

Feeling like an ass, Vilkas murmured, “The day he came to Kodlak, he said he no longer had a fire in his heart.” _Losing his man like that…_ Just like the Dragonborn. It sent chills up Vilkas’ spine. There were so many parallels there it was eerie.

“Is that so. And what did the old man say?”

He hesitated in answering, feeling another twinge of guilt. “That perhaps here was where he would find it again.”

“Ah, that sounds like the old wolf.” She took a drink of mead, turning sideways as she heard the creak of a bowstring being drawn back. Njada’s arrow sailed through the air and landed in the second ring in, and Aela muttered, “Hopeless.” She shook her head and turned back to Vilkas. “You’d better hope you don’t run into another dragon with her or you’re in deep trouble.”

“As long as the Dragonborn stays in High Hrothgar we’ll be fine.” The dragons stayed where they were, sleeping. Waiting, it seemed. They were spotted only from a distance, no one foolish or stupid enough to go anywhere near them. Vilkas was confident though that a couple members of the Circle could take one down together. He had played the incident six months ago in his head over and over again, analyzing the fight, seeing where he had made wrong moves. If he faced a dragon again he would do much better. He had kept a scale from that dragon near Rorikstead, after selling the rest of the scales and bones and putting half the proceeds into the Companions’ common fund. He had tucked the scale deep into the chest at the end of his bed, after showing it to the other Companions. It was one of his most treasured possessions. How many others in the world could say that they had fought a dragon with the Dragonborn? Lydia and Argis no doubt had, before their untimely ends.

“And Kodlak still has never said a word to you about the man? About what went on between them a year ago?”

“Not a word. Only what he told the Circle about the Dragonborn’s experience in Sovngarde.”

“Huh. Well, his counsel is his own, I suppose. Skjor at least knows.” She sighed and shook her head. “This lingering rift between them concerns me. I still feel the old man is wrong, much as I love him, but I would never let that come between us.”

Vilkas said with quiet grief, “It won’t be a problem much longer, will it?”

Aela nodded sadly. “Skjor will regret not making things right with him one day. Not much is worth breaking a bond of brotherhood. Not that theirs is broken by any means, but it is definitely strained.”

“Aye.” Vilkas left it at that, feeling a swell of resentment over his own brother. No, there wasn’t much worth that, certainly not a childish infatuation with a pretty stranger, and a potential shield-brother at that. Vilkas had finally decided on a suitable wife for them, with a cure for their lycanthropy finally near, and Farkas went and developed a crush on another man of all things, after hiding his affairs for the last decade or more. It wasn’t as if Vilkas couldn’t see how attractive Edric was—anyone with eyes could do so—however a man was not suitable marriage material if one wanted children, and Farkas had always been adamant that he did. That was something that had never wavered. A same-gender couple could always adopt, but the child wouldn’t really be their own.

No, Vilkas would not tolerate Farkas fawning on the newblood. It was inappropriate as a member of the Circle, and what was worse, it was pathetic, and worse still, a betrayal of their brotherly bond. Farkas simply didn’t have the brains to work all this out on his own, so as always it was up to Vilkas to do it for the both of them. They were twins and that was just how it was. They had sworn that they would live their lives side by side, and Vilkas sure as hell wasn’t going to share a man with Farkas. No goddamn way. That had never been even a possibility. Vilkas wanted children, ones of his own blood. Vilkas wanted a wife. He wanted Narri, and he was in no condition to win her over in this state. It had always been obvious that she preferred Farkas, so it was up to Farkas to woo her, and while a cure was finally within their grasp, every month that went by increased the odds that some other man would win Narri’s affections. Maybe that blond lumberjack Bolund who was always sniffing around her.

“Are you listening to me?” Aela asked in exasperation. Vilkas started and looked at her. “You’re as bad as your brother.”

“No I am not. What did you say?”

Aela waved him off as she got up. “Never mind.”

Vilkas took another bite of pie and ignored her, falling back into his brooding. The Huntress returned to Njada, berating her for her poor aim, but he barely heard it, too obsessed with how he was going to keep his brother away from the newblood. It was possible that the infatuation would fade with time, but it was equally possible it wouldn’t. There was also the very real chance that someday Edric would join the Circle and take the blood, and that would only open the floodgates to a world of new problems. There was a very good reason why the Jorrvaskr pack usually only had one female, and Edric would almost be like another female. He wouldn’t go into season, but his obvious orientation and the change in his scent would be a lure to any males who went that way even a bit.

He felt a thrill of fear as he slowly chewed his pie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a short filler chapter...
> 
> Thank you to everyone for reading. I honestly feel terrible making things this hard on Vilkas, because I do believe that he is a good person in general. Because this story takes place years later than most characters join the Companions, it's given things time to sort of fester.


	9. Chapter 9

** Farkas – 28th of Heartfire, 4E205 **

The big man patted Athis on the back as they went through Jorrvaskr’s doors. “I’ll let Kodlak know how you did,” Farkas stated. “He’ll be pleased.”

“Thank you, brother,” Athis said with a nod. “I appreciate that.”

The elf headed directly for the fire to warm his always-cold hands and Farkas headed for the stairs, glancing around the mead hall as he went to make sure he didn’t miss his brother or Edric. He could vaguely hear the ring of weapons out in the yard and assumed Vilkas was out there, and probably wouldn’t want to be disturbed. That’s what he told himself, anyway. He wasn’t in any hurry to face his brother after the way he had left here. It made him feel like a coward, both the way he had left and his reluctance to talk to Vilkas. Farkas really didn’t want to have that talk. _The_ talk.

He found Edric sitting at one of the tables in the downstairs hall talking to Ria, who was staring at him with wide eyes, her chin in her hand, giving him her undivided attention as she did everything. Edric’s back was to Farkas, his braid swaying as he took a drink to wet his throat. Farkas watched him, feeling relief and warmth go through him. It was good to see Edric here, and even better to see him talking to a shield-sibling. It meant he was getting comfortable here, or at least Farkas hoped so. It meant he would stay.

“They’re absolutely hideous,” Edric continued. “Glowing red eyes, and their mouths are always open. They make this creepy grunting sound that makes the hair stand up on your skin. Sometimes they carry glowing red weapons, as if those came from the ash as well. Some cast fire magic. I hated the things.”

“But…where do they come from?” Ria asked in a whisper, looking spooked.

“The theory is that when Red Mountain blew, some of the ejaculate—” Ria giggled then covered her mouth, and Edric burst into laughter then he shook his head and gently ruffled her hair. “Dirty minded wench. Anyway, the theory is that the rock that had been exposed to the heart of Shor all these ages took on some of its power, and when the mountain erupted it blew that rock onto Solstheim. The Dunmer cremate their dead, but if you’ve ever seen cremated remains there are pieces of bone left. The affected rocks are called heart stones, and it’s believed that those stones reanimated the remains. Others believe that the heart stones are actually reanimating the remains of those who died in the eruption and were buried by the ashfall. Who knows?”

“Ugh!”

“Yeah, it’s pretty awful. The southern part of the island is covered in ash, but the rest of the island is just like Skyrim. Well, northern Skyrim. Cold. Big glaciers like the ones you see up near Winterhold. Same tombs and dragon temples and all that, infested with draugr.” He took a sip of mead then continued, “Still, I kind of liked it there. I get along just fine with dark elves. As long as they aren’t Telvanni wizards.”

“Wow,” Ria breathed. “Is it true the Telvanni live in mushroom houses?”

“Sure is. The big one the wizard lives in doesn’t have stairs. You step into this stream of light and _zip!_ Sucks you right up to the next floor.” Ria shuddered. “Yeah, you really have to watch your step going back down, or…” Ria looked past him, and he turned and saw Farkas standing there.

Farkas sighed silently as a big smile spread over Edric’s face, the first full smile he had seen out of him. It was stunning, his teeth even but his canines somewhat pointed. Farkas found himself grinning back, probably looking like an idiot, but he didn’t care. Edric was even more beautiful than he remembered. He wasn’t wearing armor either, instead wearing a linen tunic of rust red and brown wool pants. It was odd seeing him out of armor, but a good kind of odd. He was…beautiful. Just beautiful, and that was all there was to it.

“Hey big guy,” Edric said in greeting. “I was telling Ria about some of the things I saw on Solstheim.”

“I heard,” Farkas answered, moving closer. “How long have you been back?”

“Four days. Kodlak thought, well I thought…I should stick around for a while. Get to know everyone. Tell some stories of where I’ve been. The things I’ve seen.”

“Oh. Did I miss much?” The question came out just as sappy as he feared it would, but Edric didn’t seem to notice, shaking his head.

“Nah. I’ve tried not to be pushy about it. My stories seem to piss off Torvar and irritate Vilkas.”

Farkas frowned, unhappy about that. “Why?”

Edric bit his lip, and Ria looked up at Farkas then got up from her seat and leaned close to him, whispering, “I think they’re both jealous.”

“Well…yeah, I get that,” Farkas said slowly, “but wouldn’t they still want to hear about it? Especially Vilkas?”

“He seems to, but every time Edric starts telling us something Torvar starts in with the faces.”

“What kind of faces?” Farkas asked, his voice low and aggravated.

“Like he’s mocking him. Like he doesn’t believe Edric did everything he says.” Edric rolled his eyes as he took a drink; it was obvious he didn’t care what anyone believed, or didn’t believe. “Vilkas just gets… agitated,” she whispered, a touch of fear in her voice. “You know he’s always going on about how he’s killed one of everything in Skyrim, but Edric has done that and killed one of everything in Solstheim too.”

Edric pointed the bottle at her and stated gravely, “I have _never_ killed a bunny. Or a chicken. A man has to have his limits.” Ria couldn’t help laughing at that. Farkas wasn’t amused though, looking deeply worried.

“Tell me you didn’t say that to Vilkas,” Farkas pleaded. He could just imagine how that would go over.

“No, of course not,” he soothed. “I know better, believe me.” He stood and stretched then drank down the rest of the bottle and set it aside. Farkas stared at him with a worried expression, and Edric slapped him on the arm. “I promise I’ve been careful of your brother. Without making it _obvious_ that I am,” he added, and Farkas let out a breath of relief.

“Okay. That’s good.” He lowered his voice and asked them, “How’s the old man doing?”

“The same,” Ria said sadly, “though he’s been eating better lately.” She touched Edric’s forearm and asked in a hopeful tone, “Are we still on for tomorrow morning?”

“Absolutely,” the young man promised. The girl beamed at him then headed off to the common quarters. Seeing Farkas’ confusion, Edric explained, “I was going to show her some sword and shield techniques that I think would work well for her.” He sighed. “And with any luck your brother won’t have a problem with it.” Farkas grimaced, and Edric pinched the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes for a moment, then he let his hand fall. “I don’t get this place,” he said with quiet intensity. “Am I supposed to be helping or not? Am I just supposed to take orders?”

“No no no,” Farkas said quickly, shaking his head. “It’s not that. It’s just…” He made a sound of frustration and motioned for Edric to follow him, and the younger man shrugged and did so. He went to his quarters and opened the door, hearing a laugh behind him.

“A bar? In your room?” Edric said in surprise.

“It was here before it was my room.” He looked around and felt his face grow warm at the chaos there…dirty clothes were strewn about, empty mead and ale bottles had been rolled under his bed, dirty plates were stacked by the door, and he had never cleaned up the wood shavings from his carving. The mess in here had never bothered him before, but he was keenly aware of it now. “This uh, was Arnbjorn’s room. He got kicked out a while back. Vilkas and I shared Dad’s room before that. Our father Jergen’s old room.” He made a face and mumbled, “Sorry about the mess.”

Edric shrugged. “It’s your room. Doesn’t bother me.” He glanced at the single bed and added with a single raised eyebrow, “Do you actually fit on that?”

“Barely,” Farkas replied with a laugh. He set his pack down and watched Edric take a seat on one of the stools at the bar, eyeing the unopened bottle of ale there. Farkas said with worry, “You really shouldn’t drink so much. It isn’t good for you.”

“I know,” he murmured, pulling the bottle over to twirl it between his hands.

Farkas hesitated then closed the door. The last thing he wanted was to have his twin come along and stand there giving them both dirty looks. “It’s just…I don’t think it helps.”

“No kidding.”

The cool tone to Edric’s voice warned him that the topic was no longer open for discussion, and he mumbled, “I’m sorry. I…just worry. I won’t say anything more.” The last thing he wanted to do was make the guy dislike or avoid him.

Edric sighed and pushed the bottle away then leaned his arm on the bar and looked at Farkas, who stared at him with a guarded expression then pulled off his baldric and scabbard and set it aside. “It’s sweet that you worry,” Edric finally stated. “You’re right, it doesn’t help. But I’ve been doing it for so long that…” He sighed and leaned on his elbow. “I think about quitting sometimes,” he said softly. “I even tried a few years ago, for…someone’s sake. I started getting the shakes and feeling sick. I couldn’t go through with it. I worry that my body’s so used to it now that it’ll go into shock if I quit.” Farkas looked horrified at that. Edric’s cheeks turned pink and he avoided the Companion’s eyes as he went on, “When I started I was still a kid and could still get drunk. I’m not sure how much it would take at this point to get there.”

“God Edric,” Farkas sighed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ask. It isn’t my business.” No matter how he wanted it to be. There was something so sad and closed off about Edric that it broke Farkas’ heart. Edric was sharing, but he was reserved about it, like he had nothing left in him, no real anger or joy or anything. It made Farkas’ hands itch to hold him, and he didn’t dare. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he touched Edric again, but by Mara how he wanted to. It was all he’d thought about for the last two weeks. Someone needed to take care of Edric, because Edric sure as hell wasn’t taking care of himself.

“No, it’s okay,” he said tiredly. “Like I said, it’s sweet that you care. You’re a good person, Farkas. I mean that.” Farkas smiled at him, and he returned it slightly. “So where did you just get back from? Somewhere in Haafingar?”

“Yeah, Fort Hraggstad. Bandits. Pretty easy. I let Athis take the lead and he did a good job. I need to report to the old man in a little bit, once I get cleaned up.” Edric nodded. Farkas pulled off his gauntlets and tossed them on the bed then knelt down to dig through his pack. “I uh, I’ve been working on something,” he said in a halting tone, feeling his face flush. “I started it the day after I got back here. After you saved my life and took care of me. I’ve been working on it this whole time, but it’s done now. Well, as done as it’s going to get.”

He found it, wrapped in a dirty tunic, and hoped none of the smell stuck to it. He stood up with it, his hands cupped around it, and he felt sick to his stomach with nerves. He’d put his heart and soul into this, and he suddenly wasn’t sure how Edric would receive it. Edric was nice, and Farkas was sure he would be polite about it at least. Well, he hadn’t done it to get kudos. He had made it as a gift with no strings attached and that was that.

“You okay?” Edric asked with a frown. Farkas didn’t answer right away, probably looking as ill as he felt, and Edric prompted, “You went to one of the shrines when you got back, right?”

“Yeah, uh, we always do, well, the whelps do, the Circle doesn’t need to, I…fuck.” Edric’s eyebrows rose and Farkas cursed himself for being an idiot and walked over to Edric and held the carving out to him as he blurted, “Here. I made this for you. Thanks for saving me.”

Edric stared at him in surprise then his eyes lowered to the carving in Farkas’ hands. He hesitantly reached out and picked it up, then he sucked in a breath and held it. It was a stylized hawk perched on a tree stump, carved from light-colored linden wood, with the suggestion of folded wings and tail feathers, but it had been detailed with dark lines that had been burned into the wood. It was all of one solid piece, about six inches high.

Edric turned the hawk slowly in his hands, his eyes wide. “You _made_ this?” he whispered, not taking his eyes off it. Farkas made a sound of assent, barely more than a grunt. “For…me?”

“Um…yeah,” he said nervously. “You uh, worship Kynareth. Kyne. It seemed…right. It just came to me, that I should…make it. For you.” Edric swallowed hard then licked his lips and took a deep breath, and to Farkas’ dismay the younger man’s eyes began to glisten as his breathing grew uneven.

“I’ve never…” Edric drew in a shuddering breath then swallowed again. “No one’s ever. Made me anything,” he whispered. “This…it’s _beautiful,_ Farkas.”

The breathy words sent a shiver over Farkas’ skin, and when Edric looked up at him with big, shining eyes and parted lips it was all Farkas could do not to close the distance between them. Edric smiled at him with such a look of vulnerability that it made his heart twist in his chest. Before he could stop the words he said, “People should make you beautiful things.” He mentally punched himself for it, but Edric’s smile broadened then he looked down at the bird again as it faded.

“I’ve had plenty of people _buy_ me things,” he said quietly, “or give me things. Because of my looks.” He snorted a bitter laugh. “My first commander in the Legion offered me a promotion if I would sleep with him.” He shrugged one shoulder, his voice growing distant again. “I slept with him, but I refused the promotion. That was fine by him. He got what he wanted either way.”

“He shouldn’t have done that,” Farkas growled.

“Well yeah, it was definitely unethical. He could have lost his command for it and I would’ve gotten a dishonorable discharge. I was young and stupid, only seventeen, but I never did it again.” His lips pursed for a moment as he set the hawk on the counter but kept his hands around it. “It would’ve been easy to get through life that way. I’d never want for anything. Except respect. Beauty doesn’t get you respect. Beauty doesn’t earn you honor.” He looked up and Farkas was gazing at him with a frown. “I guess you and Vilkas don’t need to worry much about that. Big, manly guys like you get respected by default. Me, I looked like a girl until I hit my mid twenties. I always had to prove myself, more than a woman would. You wouldn’t believe all the fights I’ve had to get into over the years.”

“That isn’t fair.”

“No, but it’s reality. I think it’s part of Torvar’s problem with me. I tend to attract guys who think they’re real butch and would never consider touching another guy otherwise. Maybe it’s your brother’s problem too. I’m too pretty for my own good, for their comfort, and it makes them mad.”

Farkas huffed unhappily and turned away, unbuckling his armor. He hated hearing all this. It was easy to imagine Edric being propositioned everywhere he went. Getting harassed. Being stared at. Being insulted by men who felt they had something to prove. Men like Torvar. Or Vilkas. “You aren’t pretty,” Farkas muttered, though that wasn’t really the truth. Edric laughed, and it sounded tired. Farkas pulled off his pauldrons and threw them on the bed. “You’re not,” he insisted.

“What am I then?”

Farkas glanced at him and saw him leaning on the bar on one elbow, smirking again, the other hand playing with the tip of his braid, and even with the scars on his face he was still so lovely he made Farkas’ chest ache. No one had ever made him feel even a fraction of what he felt for Edric. He’d felt plenty of lust in his life, but the way Edric made him feel after knowing him for less than one full day…it was wonderful and painful all at once. It was…it was exactly what he remembered falling in love felt like. Maybe that was exactly what it was: he loved Edric. He didn’t know him, but he didn’t have to to love him.

Edric’s eyes dropped as he tossed the braid back, his expression hardening. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t do that to you.” He slid off the stool, picking up the hawk and holding it to his chest. “I’ll always treasure this, Farkas. Can I show Kodlak?” He saw Farkas nod out of the corner of his eye, and he smiled briefly then left, closing the door gently behind him.

Farkas whined unhappily the moment the latch clicked, sounding like a lost puppy and not caring who heard it. He stood there for several minutes, confused and miserable and lonely, feeling stupid for running Edric off. Because that was exactly what he had done, by letting him see what Farkas should have kept to himself. It was inappropriate to have feelings for a shield-brother, but how could he help it? He had no idea how to make it stop, no idea at all.

He took off his cuirass and nearly threw it on the bed as well but caught himself in time. Eorlund wouldn’t be happy about repairing damage that came from poor care as opposed to battle, and the old master smith would know the difference. Farkas laid the armor out neatly then grabbed clean clothes to go bathe, then he stopped himself, looking at his mess of a room. It really was horrible, so messy it was hard to walk a straight line across the floor. And it smelled a little. Just as Vilkas frequently told him, but he had always brushed it off as his brother being a fusspot. Edric probably had been honest that he didn’t care, but it was the idea.

He set the clean clothes aside and began gathering up the empty bottles, taking them out into the hall and carefully setting them in the area where Tilma put them into the crates they had come in, to set back outside the mead hall’s front doors for Honningbrew Meadery workers to collect every Morndas, to wash and reuse. He then took the stacks of dirty dishes to the kitchen, where Tilma clucked her tongue at him but smiled in approval as he put them in the washing tub for her. He then collected his dirty clothes into the basket they were supposed to go in and set it outside his bedroom door. With everything off the floor it was easy to see how disgusting it was, sticky with spilled mead and bits of old food. He grumbled and went back to Tilma for a broom, and she patted his cheek and told him to go bathe and she would take care of it. He kissed her forehead, relieved to get out of it, and did exactly that.

Farkas washed quickly, not bothering to linger in the tub no matter how he would have liked to. When he returned to his room to dump the dirty clothes that went under his armor into the basket, he saw that Tilma had already swept out his room and washed the stone floor. He shook his head in amazement and stayed out of his room to let the floor dry, feeling some measure of satisfaction seep into him. At least he had accomplished something that was well overdue, and if he ever was able to get Edric in there again he wanted him to notice the difference.

Deciding to finally check in with Kodlak, Farkas walked to the Harbinger’s quarters. The outer sitting room was empty, but the bedroom door was open. Hearing Kodlak’s labored, raspy breathing, Farkas peeked in and to his mixed relief and disappointment Edric wasn’t there. The Harbinger was propped up in bed, writing in his journal on a lap tray, his hand still steady, pausing every so often to clear his throat or cough. He noticed Farkas and waved him in. “I hope I’m not disturbing you, Harbinger,” he stated.

“No son, not at all,” Kodlak replied, not taking his eyes off his writing. “Just one moment.” He finished his thought then set the quill aside and held the journal out to Farkas. “Could you blow on the ink?”

“Sure.” He supposed he was the safest person to do that, since the writing wouldn’t make much sense to him anyway. He could make out a word every so often, but it was something like ‘the’ or ‘him’ which had no meaning at all. He blew the ink dry as Kodlak coughed, and the amount of blood on the old mans lips was frightening. Kodlak dabbed it away with his kerchief then leaned back, gasping for air. “Should I call Danica?” Farkas asked with worry. Kodlak shook his head, his shaggy white mane swaying, still thick and full. Once the ink was dry Farkas handed the journal back, and the old man folded it shut.

“The job went well?” he whispered.

“Aye. Athis carried himself with honor. I hung back and let him lead the mission. He probably could’ve done the whole thing himself and been fine. He’s come a long way.” The Dunmer warrior was quick, light on his feet, in and out before the enemy knew what hit them. He never complained about the conditions on a job, though everyone knew he and Ria felt the cold keenly. Athis had come to Skyrim as a young elf who had practically crawled out of the wastes of Vvardenfell with his family; they had settled in the slums of Windhelm and he had left as quickly as he could and had never looked back, though Farkas knew he sent his family money several times a year. He had determined after being despised and spat upon by Nords that he was going to join that most Nordic of institutions, the Companions, and prove that he was every bit as good if not better than those who oppressed his people. And he was, but not just because he was a Companion. Athis made a good, solid shield-brother though, and Farkas was always glad to have him at his back.

“Good, good.” He motioned for Farkas to move the tray, and Farkas carried it out to the sitting room then came back. Kodlak patted the bed and the big man took a seat, careful not to jostle him. “Edric showed me the gift you made him.”

“Yeah?” He fidgeted under Kodlak’s measuring gaze. At times like this it was tempting to believe Kodlak really could read people’s minds. It had sure seemed that way when Farkas and Vilkas were teenagers. They’d hardly ever gotten away with anything.

The Harbinger finally said, “He was extremely moved by it. You did a good thing. A very good thing.” Farkas nodded, his cheeks warm. “Is something troubling you?” Farkas made a face of anxiety, and the old man sighed and leaned back against the pillows, pointing at the door. “You haven’t been honest with me, son,” he chided as Farkas closed it. “Or your brother.”

“I can’t,” Farkas muttered as he put his back to the door. “Not with Vilkas.”

Kodlak grumbled and warned, “You will end up letting your brother push you too far. If you don’t stand up to him now he will keep pushing you until there won’t be any mending things between you. He will drive you to the point of hating him.”

Horrified, Farkas exclaimed, “I could never hate my brother!”

“Yes, you could. The way Vilkas is going…you very well could one day.” He shook his head and said in a regretful tone, “For as much time as he spends thinking, Vilkas doesn’t spend enough of it _feeling._ He doesn’t let himself. His emotions were too close to the surface for too long after taking the blood. It made him feel weak, vulnerable. The coldness is a defense, as is the anger. His anger makes him feel safe. He uses it to put a wall between him and others.” Farkas nodded, knowing all this. “You fled Jorrvaskr last week instead of being honest with him. As long as you refuse to tell him the truth he will continue to use your refusal as leverage.”

“I can’t,” Farkas whined. “He’s so…he doesn’t listen. He never listens!”

“He discounts anything that doesn’t fit into his worldview, and must be forced to see the truth. Sometimes by grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and rubbing his nose in that truth.” He raised an eyebrow and gently prompted, “Which is?”

Farkas swallowed, chewing nervously at his bottom lip, then he deflated and mumbled, “I think I’m in love with Edric.”

Kodlak sucked in a breath, which sent him into a spasm of coughing, and once it subsided he croaked, “Damn you, boy, that…was _not_ what I expected you to say.”

“I know it’s wrong,” Farkas said miserably, rubbing his face. “I tried not to let him see it, Edric I mean, but I think he saw it, and it made him uncomfortable and he left. When I gave him the bird. No, not the bird, the hawk. I mean I gave him the hawk.” He made a sound of frustration and let his hands fall.

“How is following the call of your heart wrong?”

“Because he’s a shield-brother.”

Kodlak cleared his throat then sighed, “Well, yes, he is, but such things have always gone on in this hall. You can’t have people living in close quarters like this and not have it occasionally happen. There have been Companions who have married each other. Even members of the Circle. I don’t think there is anything that _hasn’t_ happened under Jorrvaskr’s roof over the long course of our history. No, it is not ideal, but life rarely is.”

Afraid to feel even a spark of hope, Farkas asked, “Well what do I do? Vilkas wants me to go to Falkreath and see Narri again, and I don’t want to go.”

“Then don’t.” Farkas made a grumbling sound of dread, and Kodlak firmly said, “Enough of this. You’ve been leading a double life and it is long past time for it to end. Your brother knows the truth but he will do everything in his power to avoid acknowledging it and to keep you from following your own path.” His tone turned sour as he went on, “Half the time I think he considers you nothing more than an extension of himself. I’ve kept my own thoughts on the matter private since frankly no one asked me, and until now you seemed content with how things were. That is no longer the case. You asked me what to do. I’m telling you to be honest with your brother. Leave Edric out of it if you must, in fact that would be for the best, however you must tell Vilkas that you don't prefer women and can’t in good conscience marry one.” He motioned towards Farkas and said, “Think on that, why don’t you, the fate of whatever poor girl Vilkas pressures you into marrying. Is that fair to her? The sole purpose of marriage is love. Mara would frown upon a marriage entered into dishonestly.”

Farkas nodded, feeling a little better. He hadn’t even considered that angle. He liked women a lot and could tell when one was pretty, but they just didn’t do much for him. Having sex with them felt great, but it was just sensation, with no real, driving desire involved. Edric though…just a look or a smile, the sway of his hair, and Farkas lost the ability to think straight. Not that he was a great thinker to begin with. He sighed and said, “I don’t think it’s going to end up mattering anyway. When Edric saw how I felt he ran away.”

“I very much doubt that it was a rejection of you personally, son. Do you know what’s coming up next month?”

“The harvest?”

“Well, yes, that too. Edric’s birthday is the 4th of Frostfall. Then comes the 13th of Frostfall. Do you remember what happened last year on that date?”

Farkas thought for a moment then answered, “The war ended.”

“Yes. That was the day the Stormcloaks captured Solitude. That was the day that Edric’s man died.” Farkas looked stricken. “Frostfall is going to be a hard month for the lad. He’ll not only be grieving the anniversary of his man’s death but marking a birthday that holds no joy for him. For years he looked forward to the war ending so that he and his fellow could make a home together, raise a family, and…here he is.” Farkas made a soft sound of grief, his eyes shining. Kodlak sighed heavily then coughed a bit, looking deeply saddened. “Still, he is here, and that means something. Your gift moved him, and that means something as well.”

“But it made him sad. He said no one had ever made him anything before. Then he told me an awful story about his first commanding officer getting in his pants.”

Kodlak frowned and muttered, “Yes, well, that is another issue he is working through. I think your gift is the first he has ever been given with no expectations attached to it, and it was made with your own two hands. Edric is…well, there is no getting around it. Gods know how, but…” He shook his head. “The lad is beautiful, and that is the hard truth of it, and no easy thing for a man to bear. He’s used to people trying to give him things, other men, older men, and they always do it because they want him. They do it trying to win his favors. You…you spent two weeks handcrafting something for him as thanks, with no thought for yourself, wanting nothing from him in return, and that hit him hard. When he saw your heart in your eyes, it no doubt frightened him. He misses his man intensely, and he’s lonely, but he doesn’t want to move on. He doesn’t want to let go. Some part of him thinks that by getting on with his life he’s betraying the memory of the one he lost.”

Farkas bit at his lips, sad and worried. He tried to see the good in all this, that Edric was here at all, and that it meant that he hadn’t given up on life. Maybe it was even a good thing that Edric had run away from Farkas’ feelings. That meant that they had reached him somehow. Made him feel things he hadn’t felt in a long time, maybe. Maybe.

He returned to the Harbinger’s bed and sat down on the edge of it, asking, “What should I do? About Edric?”

“Be patient with him. Be there without being intrusive. Listen if he feels like talking. You’ve always been a good listener, Farkas.”

“So…it’s okay then? To court him?” he asked hesitantly. He had to be sure. If he was going to do this then he had to know that he had the Harbinger’s approval. He didn’t want to get halfway in and find out Kodlak was angry about it. It didn’t sound like he was, but sometimes Farkas didn’t understand what he thought he understood. He wanted to know ahead of time that it was okay to woo Edric, because his heart already ached when he thought of the other man, and he knew he would end up loving him more than this, and losing Edric at that point would hurt too much.

Kodlak sighed with a faint smile and squeezed Farkas’ knee. “You have my blessing, son,” he stated, and Farkas let out the breath he was holding in an exhalation of giddy relief, a broad smile spreading across his face. As Kodlak’s hand fell away he went on, “When I told you two weeks ago that your kind heart could heal his broken one, this wasn’t what I had envisioned, but now…perhaps this is how it was meant to go.”

“Okay,” Farkas murmured. “I…I don’t know what to do, though.”

“Let whatever instinct drove you to carve the bird guide you.”

“Okay," he repeated. He hesitated then asked, "Have you ever wooed someone?” If Kodlak had, it had been longer ago than Farkas could remember. He couldn't recall ever seeing Kodlak with a woman, and it wasn't because the women weren't interested. Kodlak was a striking man, even in his old age, and women had always given him the eye, but from what Farkas could tell Kodlak had never seemed to notice.

“Wooed,” Kodlak whispered in a bemused tone, then he went quiet for a moment as if considering whether to answer. He finally huffed a laugh. “Yes, once, in a way. Long ago, far from here. I never intended to, but…one thing led to another, and before I knew it...I was willing to throw aside everything I held dear to be with her. Even the Companions.”

Amazed by the confession, Farkas whispered, “What happened?” Kodlak had never even hinted at anything like this in all the years Farkas and Vilkas had known him. It was shocking.

“Her parents disapproved from the start. I was much older than her, you see. A few years younger than you and Vilkas are now, but she was still in her teens, barely past the age of consent, so I was old enough to be her father. I ordinarily never would have given a girl her age more than a passing glance, but…” He sighed sadly at the distant memory. “She was in training to be a priestess. An acolyte. I had taken a bad wound on a job and had run out of potions to deal with it, so I headed to the closest town, on death’s door. She was the only one free to deal with the matter, with the Great War still going on, and…I grew to love her. It was impossible not to.” He sniffed a short laugh of remembrance. “She was a true beauty, that girl. Half-Breton on her father’s side and as delicate and fresh as a spring breeze, tiny, with a voice like a bird, but she was still a Nord, golden-haired with eyes like two mountain lakes and skin like snow. She tended to me as best she could while I recuperated from my injury, then one night…well, her parents found us together the next morning and all hell broke loose. We couldn’t stay away from each other after that no matter how they raged against it.” Kodlak’s eyes grew clouded. “I came back here, to report back in, to put my affairs in order and try to arrange some sort of home for the two of us, so we could marry, but when I went back to fetch her she was gone, and her parents dead along with so many others, and…I had to assume she had died as well. Many had, at the hands of the elves. All I could do was return here and lick my wounds and move on.”

“Shit,” Farkas breathed, finding it impossible to do more than that past the lump in his throat. That was as heartbreaking a loss as Edric’s, or the Dragonborn’s. And Farkas had never had a clue. It was so bewildering to hear his Harbinger speak of a woman in those terms that he didn’t know what to think.

“So you see, I know somewhat where Edric is coming from, except I never found the strength to try again after that. I’d never intended even that to happen, so I avoided it with all my might afterward. I renewed my commitment to the Companions and the Circle, took you two from Jergen, and never looked back, except in my memories. Edric though…even with all that he has done and been through, he simply doesn’t have it in him to harden himself enough to live like that.” He squeezed Farkas’ knee and counseled, “Even if love finds you later in life, you have to grab it and hold on with all your might. The way Edric found you that night, and the drive you felt to carve that bird…I feel it has meaning.”

“I hope so.”

Kodlak took a deep breath then slid down further in the bed. “I’m going to rest for a while, son. But leave the door open. And…this conversation we just had. Keep it to yourself, Farkas. As a favor to me. It is something the others don’t need to know. Skjor does, but the others…no. Perhaps one day after I am long gone, but not yet.”

“I promise, Harbinger,” he swore. “On my honor.” That Kodlak had trusted him with something that only Skjor knew about meant everything to him.

“Good lad.”

Farkas tucked the covers more comfortably around the old man, moving the extra pillows out of the way, then he let himself out. As he walked down the hall he mulled over Kodlak’s story, so terribly sad, like something out of a book. How could none of them have known? Kodlak had always been a rather private, stoic person, though as he had gotten older he had become more emotional, or maybe more willing to let people see it. Especially since he had gotten sick. Kodlak had always traveled a lot when he was younger, before Jergen left. Jergen had left about thirty years ago, which would have been about the time Kodlak was talking about. Maybe Kodlak had stopped traveling then because of that girl, and had decided to stay here and finish raising Farkas and Vilkas for Jergen, who had desperately wanted the chance to fight the Aldmeri Dominion before the war was over. And then Jergen had never come back home.

He went to his room, seeing the basket of dirty clothes was gone and his floor was dry. He took a deep breath, pleased to find that it smelled fresh and clean in there. As he laid the rugs back down he resolved to do better from now on about keeping his room halfway decent. He wanted Edric to feel comfortable in there without worrying he was going to step in wood shavings or spilled mead. Who knew when he ever would want to be around Farkas again, but if the room was kept clean that would be one less worry.

With nothing better to do at the moment Farkas set about caring for his armor, something he was more than capable of doing himself. The others took their armor to Eorlund after every mission to check over and buff up, but Farkas preferred to do it himself unless it had taken actual damage. Vilkas was the bookish one, but Farkas liked using his hands, and he was good at it. Eorlund had told him more than once that if he hadn’t had a son to follow him in his trade that he would have taken him on as an apprentice. Farkas had picked up enough blacksmithing knowledge to do all the minor repairs and basic care of his amor and weapons himself, and he enjoyed it.

It was good to know that if he had to he could one day take up a craft. Maybe he could do some more woodcarvings and sell them, just for money on the side, not that he was ever short of coin, but if he was going to court Edric he might need it. He remembered the wooden toys that Askar had brought him and Vilkas one year for their birthday, a set of warriors on horses. The twins had been enchanted by them and had played with them endlessly until they had gotten lost or broken, Farkas couldn’t remember which. He thought maybe he might try making something like that one day and see if Belethor or Fralia Gray-Mane would sell it for him.

Farkas was sitting on his bed buffing the last piece of his armor with oil, the breastplate, all the other pieces laid out in front of him on the clean floor, when he heard the scuff of soft leather boots in the hallway. It was something Vilkas never wore, who preferred either boots with hardened leather soles or no shoes at all. He saw movement in his doorway and looked up to see the last person he expected to see the rest of the day. Edric glanced at him then down at the armor, a half-empty bottle in his left hand and an unopened one in the right. The young man’s expression was one of poorly hidden nervousness, and when Edric glanced at him again Farkas dropped his eyes, willing his expression to go blank and sure that it wasn’t working. He didn’t want Edric to see the pathetic look of yearning on his face and risk running him off again. Farkas couldn’t imagine why he was back though. He had left just an hour and a half ago.

“You cleaned your room.”

The surprise in Edric’s voice was obvious, and Farkas mumbled, “I guess I realized how bad it was. I think I had half of Jorrvaskr’s plates in here.”

Edric gave a short, quiet laugh at that. “You take care of your own armor? I didn’t think anyone here did that.” Farkas made a sound of assent, not looking up at him. “Me too. I’m so used to doing everything for myself that I don’t think I could hand my armor or weapons over to anyone.” Farkas nodded, still not looking up. “So you never, ah, told me what was expected of me here. When I mentioned tutoring Ria.”

“Oh. Well…” He heard Edric take a deep drink then swallow, and the sound was painful to hear. If he accomplished nothing else between him and Edric, he wanted to at least get him to cut back on his drinking. Edric wasn’t quite thirty and there didn’t seem to be any signs of damage yet, but he wanted to avoid that ever happening. “It’s just that Ria, she’s kind of Vilkas’ special student. He took her under his wing after she came here last year. But lately she’s been scared of him.”

“Yeah, she told me that,” Edric murmured. “It’s part of why I offered.”

“If you start teaching her, if she starts going to you instead of Vilkas, it’ll make things worse.”

“I assumed that, yes. But is it something I’m not _supposed_ to be doing?”

Farkas shook his head, finally looking up when he heard the touch of exasperation in Edric’s voice. His green eyes were intent, the muscles along his jaw tense. “No, it isn’t that. It’s actually expected. Of the more experienced warriors to help train the others. But it’s usually the Circle that does that. Or those who are being groomed for the Circle.”

“I’m not trying to get into the Circle, believe me. That’s the last hassle I need right now.”

Confused, Farkas blinked and frowned. “But…why?” Edric looked uncomfortable, and Farkas lowered his eyes to his armor again. “Sorry,” he murmured. “Not my business.” He was supposed to listen, not push.

“Shit.”

The soft, barely audible curse nearly made Farkas look up again, but he resisted the urge and went back to polishing his armor. He wasn’t really paying attention to what he was doing, too keenly aware of Edric, of his breathing, of the faint hints of male scent mixed with alcohol.

“I…did something wrong. Didn’t I.”

Hearing the hurt there, Farkas shook his head vigorously. “No. It was me.”

“What could you have possibly done?”

His face warmed as he muttered, “I don’t know.” He sure as hell wasn’t going to say it. He was afraid every word out of his mouth, any look that wasn’t being controlled, might scare Edric off again. The sudden closing of his door startled him, and he looked up to see Edric cross the floor and throw himself into the chair in the corner. The younger man stared at him with a sullen expression, waiting, then he took a drink, his eyes never leaving Farkas. Farkas couldn’t tear his gaze away, and when Edric licked his lips he could barely suppress the shudder of desire it sent through him. He couldn’t imagine why Edric was back here, because he didn’t think it was because he wanted to know if he could train Ria.

Edric finally looked away, taking another drink, then his eyes fell on the lute propped against the wall behind the counter and his cool expression changed to one of surprise. “Do you play the lute?” Edric asked, and Farkas could swear he heard a touch of hope in the question.

“No. Well, I do uh, play it sometimes,” he admitted, “but I’m not any good at it. It was in the room when I moved in, all this stuff was, but Arnbjorn didn’t play either. I don’t really remember any Companions being able to play it, but Askar used to play the drum and Aela’s mother, Gislun, had a little bone flute that she played along with him. Back when we were kids.”

“What was it like growing up here?”

Farkas shrugged. “Hard sometimes. Good sometimes. Just like anywhere, I guess, but growing up among warriors…Vilkas and I don’t know anything else. Our father, Jergen, he was a lot like Vilkas, but before a year ago when Vilkas started getting…you know. Hard, but fair. Not unkind.” Edric nodded, drinking down the rest of the bottle in a series of gulps then setting it aside. “Uh…” He watched Edric pop the cork out of the second bottle and had to look away, wondering if the other man was trying to get drunk, before remembering that he said he couldn’t, but then what was he trying to accomplish? Farkas haltingly went on, “Vilkas won’t even admit he’s our real dad, but I remember what Jergen looked like, and we look just like him. He and Vilkas fought all the time. Neither one was ever able to give in.”

“Where’s your mother?”

Farkas shrugged again and returned to polishing the breastplate. “Dead. Necromancers got her. Got us too, I guess, but our dad got back from his job just in time to save us. Not her though. Sometimes I think that’s why Vilkas was so hard on him. Because he hated our dad for not being able to save her too, but he was just one guy, even if he was in the Circle, and it’s not like we remember her. We were just babies then, pups barely weaned. Jorrvaskr is all either of us know. This is our home.”

“So…Kodlak finished raising you?”

“Uh huh. After our father left, to fight in the war. Dad hated elves. He hated the idea of elves telling men what to do, especially telling people Talos isn’t real and not letting anyone worship him anymore. He was really religious. Went to the shrine every morning, never took off his amulet.”

“I never take off my amulet of Kynareth either. And I understand fighting for what you believe in.” Edric leaned back in the chair and snorted a tired laugh, saying, “And here we are on the brink of another war with the elves.” Farkas looked up in dismay. “You didn’t know that?”

“No.”

“That’s why I never planned to join the Circle. I might have to leave here next spring. To go to war.” Farkas swallowed, his heart suddenly pounding, and Edric rolled the bottle between his hands as he looked away from the naked worry there. “I promised I would come here. I never promised I would stay.”

Farkas whispered, “I see.” He swallowed again, trying to force down the lump in his throat that was threatening to choke him. He supposed it really had been naïve of him to feel any kind of hope. He wondered if Kodlak knew, and if the old man did then why had he given Farkas his blessing to court Edric? He heard the sound of more guzzling and swallowing, and when he looked up Edric was watching him with obvious anxiety, then it smoothed over again. Maybe that was why Edric was drinking so much right now, to deal with his nerves. But why would he be anxious if he didn’t plan to stay and never had? He finally forced out, “Does the old man know?”

“He’s known since day one, why?” Farkas shook his head, looking down again, his lips pursed. He slid off his bed onto his knees to start stacking his armor on the rug in an orderly fashion, to avoid looking at Edric. “Why?” Edric pressed.

His face warming, Farkas muttered, “He was talking like you were going to be around for a while, that’s all.”

“Six months or so. To me that is a while. It’s the longest I’ve ever stayed in one place. What did he say to you?”

Farkas shook his head, feeling another wave of hurt. Anguish. He knew he wasn’t doing a good job of keeping it off his face, either. He stood and brushed off his knees, muttering, “Do you want to go upstairs and eat or something?”

“I’m not hungry, thanks.”

Farkas frowned at the sullen statement and waved his hand at the bottle. “That’s why you aren’t hungry.” Edric’s mouth fell open slightly. This entire encounter had Farkas so confused and upset that he was starting to get angry, and he hated it. He didn't want to be mad at Edric. He hadn’t hunted for two weeks either, and that wasn’t helping his mood one bit. He went on before he could stop himself, “Kodlak says he knows everything about you. I hope he’s right.”

Offended, Edric stated, “Of course he is!”

“Then why would he…ugh.” Why did he give his blessing? _Why?_

“What? Why would he what?”

Farkas glowered at him for a moment then deflated and sadly said, “He told me it was okay to do something, but now I think maybe it’s a bad idea. He gave me his blessing but there’s just…there’s no point and it’s a bad idea anyway.” He huffed at the stunned expression on the younger man’s face and turned away to pick up his sword, realizing he had forgotten to clean and sharpen it. He grumbled and pulled the two-handed sword from its sheath and sat back down on the bed, wondering when Edric was going to leave, because he couldn’t see any reason why Edric would want to stay. Farkas had made things awkward and uncomfortable again, even worse than before, and he could hear Edric guzzling down the booze again, polishing off the second bottle and setting it on the side table with a clunk. Finishing off two bottles of mead in quick succession like that would have had even a man as big as Farkas well on the way to getting drunk, and Edric didn’t seem even tipsy.

He heard the creak of the chair as Edric got up, and he kept his eyes on his sword and the oiled cleaning cloth in his hand, preparing himself for Edric to either leave or go for another bottle. Instead he heard the soft twang of the lute being picked up. He looked up in shock to see Edric carry the lute to the chair. The young man sat back down, crossing his left leg to set the body of the instrument in his lap. Edric stared at it for a moment then took a deep breath and lifted his left hand to the pegs and began quietly plucking each string as he twisted the corresponding peg. Farkas stayed quiet, blinking in bewilderment as Edric tuned the lute, something Farkas had always known needed to be done but had never had the know-how to do. Two of the eight strings had broken long ago but the pegs for them were still there, wound with the remnants of gut.

Edric quietly said, “It’s no wonder you thought you were no good at it. I’ve never heard one so badly out of tune. Lutes go out of tune easily as it is, so that’s saying a lot.” Farkas made a soft sound of acknowledgment. “Still…it seems a good quality instrument. It’s fortunate that it’s been kept down here. The even humidity and temperature have been easy on it.” He finished the tuning then strummed across the six remaining strings. “There. The strings are old, but I’ll order a fresh set from the College in Solitude. Then I’ll teach you to play, if you want.”

“You’d do that?” Farkas whispered. Edric made a sound of assent, nodding slightly, his eyes still on the lute. Farkas couldn’t help a faint wolfish whine from escaping as Edric began to play a simple tune, slowly and haltingly at first, as if it had been years since he’d last played. He winced every so often as he misplaced a finger, but his fingerings and plucking became surer as the minutes passed.

Farkas sighed with bittersweet pleasure as he watched Edric play, the sword forgotten in his lap. Edric looked so handsome with the candlelight on the good side of his face and the sound of the lute was so pretty that all Farkas could do was stare. It didn’t seem possible, or fair, that anyone could be so beautiful and talented. It was like Dibella herself had taken male form and plunked herself down in Farkas’ quarters.

“Still up for that hunt?” Edric asked. “Tonight, maybe?”

“Yes.” Farkas knew his answer sounded pathetic, full of longing, but Edric lifted his eyes finally and gave him a gentle, hesitant smile he didn’t care. Farkas felt himself smiling back, and when Edric’s smile broadened then he laughed and dropped his eyes then shyly glanced up again Farkas knew he was lost. He had no hope at all of staying away from him, Vilkas and the Companions and everything else be damned. Farkas remembered the sword in his lap and set it aside; if he tried cleaning or sharpening it now he’d end up taking off a finger. He hugged his middle as he leaned forward and watched Edric play, the other man glancing at him every so often, each time seeming a little embarrassed by the attention, though pleased. Farkas asked curiously, “Are you a bard?”

“Oh no,” Edric laughed, shaking his head. “I’ve…mmm, had some mutually beneficial dealings with the College. Fetched some items for them in exchange for training here and there and access to their library. I ah, suppose I am technically a member, but I'm not a bard by any means. I actually learned the lute from my mother, the basics, but most of my lessons came while in the Legion. Mostly on the round-bodied Cyrodiilic lute.”

“Really.” He’d never seen a round-bodied lute, only the Nordic one.

“Mm-hm. Many fabulous musicians in the service. Horns, drums, flutes, voice…not a night went by without some kind of music. I’ve…missed that.” Edric sighed in regret and switched to another tune. “It’s been a long time since I’ve played. Over a year.”

The sorrowful statement made Farkas wonder if the death of Edric’s lover was the reason for that. “You sound really good,” Farkas assured him.

“Thanks.”

“Are your parents still alive?” Edric’s lips pursed as he seemed to debate how to answer that. “Never mind,” Farkas quickly said.

“No, it’s all right,” Edric sighed. “I know I haven’t been…forthcoming about much. I have my reasons. I can’t say a whole lot, but I promise I’ll never lie to you. You’ll have to trust me on that.”

“Okay.”

Farkas’ ready answer made Edric smile briefly, then he lowered his eyes to the lute again as he said, “I never knew my father growing up. My mother always had a different story each week about why he wasn’t around, or who he was. She’s…a bit…unstable.”

“Oh. Uh…oh.”

Edric sighed, “She tried to be a good mother, but she was so young when I was born. Just a kid herself. Not married. Her parents and grandparents dead. She didn’t stand a chance, really. She didn’t have the…tools, I suppose. To do it on her own. We were always moving around, because of her paranoia. I spent most of my childhood running around the outskirts of Skyrim with Mum while she…worked. She was a ah, working girl. Or became one, to support me. That stopped when I joined the Legion and could start supporting her instead.” He glanced at Farkas and saw only sympathy there.

“People do what they have to,” Farkas said quietly. He wasn’t about to judge. “You seem okay.”

“I do, don’t I. Well…that’s good.”

Farkas frowned in concern. Edric did seem okay for how he had been raised, just that small glimpse of it. But he wasn’t really okay. He wouldn’t drink the way he did if he was okay. Most Nords drank for fun, but Edric clearly took no pleasure from it. “Where is she now?” Edric had spoken of her in the present tense, so she must be alive.

“Riften. I try to go there a few times a year. That’s ah, where I was, after I took care of the job at Shor’s Stone. I have someone taking care of her. They’ve grown close, like a mother and daughter. Mum is nuttier than a Camlorn fruitcake, harmless, but it gets harder every time I see her. I still remember how pretty she was, when I was a kid. The most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. I guess…I mostly take after her, not my father.” He abruptly stopped playing and stood, his expression going cool. He turned the lute over and told Farkas, “Since you don’t have a case or stand for it, you’ll need to store it lying on its strings, face down.”

“Sure,” he agreed with a nod.

Edric laid it on one of the shelves under the bar. “I’m going to the temple for a few hours.” Farkas looked at him in confusion, nearly asking him why, then he thought better of it and nodded. “Let me know when you’re ready to head out.”

“Sure,” he repeated.

Edric let himself out, closing the door again behind him, and Farkas grumbled and put his head in his hands, trying to make sense of everything. At least Edric had opened up a little. That he had come back here at all meant something. He had closed the door and put himself into that chair with a purpose. He had drunk with a purpose too, as if to give himself courage, to work himself up to something. He had looked completely shocked by Farkas’ not-very-discreet comment about Kodlak’s blessing, but still he had stayed. He had tuned Farkas’ lute and played him some songs. He had offered to take him on a hunt tonight. Sure he had closed himself off again as he left, but maybe he was still grappling with something. Maybe…

Maybe Edric was willing to let Farkas court him. Maybe Edric was lonely, and tired of grieving. Sure, he was probably going to war next year, but he hadn’t said he wouldn’t come back after that. Jergen hadn’t, but as great a warrior as he had been, Jergen was no Edric. Werewolf or not, Jergen had just been a warrior. Edric was more than that. Farkas could tell he was. He would just have to use the time until Edric left giving the other man reasons to come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always found the lutes in Skyrim to be extremely odd. They look and sound like lyre-guitars more than anything, but I'll keep referring to them as lutes for simplicity's sake.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of the previous chapter, same day...

** Vilkas - 28th of Heartfire, 4E205 **

Vilkas watched through narrowed eyes as Edric came through Jorrvaskr’s front doors, still dressed in the russet tunic and brown pants of that morning. Vilkas had no clue where Edric had been for the last three hours, but the younger man hadn’t been out in the training yard with the other whelps since he had joined. As if he felt he had no need for it. As if he thought he was better than the others. Even the Circle trained nearly every day at something, if only for the exercise.

Skjor called out to Edric, “Newblood! Over here, by me.”

“Wonderful,” Vilkas muttered as Skjor pointed to the empty seat between the two of them at the long table. Edric wasn’t pleased either, his tongue in his cheek as his green eyes landed on Vilkas.

“This involves you, brother,” Skjor murmured to Vilkas.

“How so?”

“You’ll see.” Edric came over and put his hands on the back of the seat, and Skjor pointed at it and ordered, “Have a seat, whelp.” Edric sighed in forbearance and did so. “Eat up.” The young man did that as well, putting a few items on his plate. Vilkas frowned at the small portions. He supposed even if Edric was a Nord, he couldn’t eat like one at his size. Skjor leaned back in his seat and folded his arms. “I talked to the old man about you.”

“Really?” Edric said in mock excitement, turning to give Skjor his full attention. “What did he say?”

Skjor stared at him with disapproval for a moment then said, “You’re a little shit sometimes, you know that?”

“Aye, that I do.”

The young man’s expression went cool again as he cut himself a small piece of bread, and Skjor looked over the top of Edric’s brown and white head to see Vilkas staring back with cold eyes. Skjor lifted an eyebrow but Vilkas didn’t react to it, his gaze unchanging. Skjor narrowed his eye at the other werewolf then looked back down to Edric, saying, “Kodlak and I both feel that your time has come.”

“Already?” Vilkas asked doubtfully. “No. It is too soon.”

“That’s not for you to say, brother.”

“He has been here not even three weeks and was gone for most of that time. He’s done one job.”

Skjor shook his head at him, turning sideways to put his arm over the back of the chair. “Is there some time requirement that I’ve been unaware of all these years?”

Torvar lurched out of his chair, making Njada and Athis sigh in disgust while Ria’s eyes widened in apprehension. “Now just see here a minute,” he slurred. “You ain’t serious about making the newblood official already?”

Skjor turned to look at him and said, “I’m always serious, Torvar. This is a decision both the Harbinger and I, as his second, have made.”

“That’s bullshit,” Torvar said more heatedly. “It took nearly nine months for me to earn my way in!”

Edric stated, “Maybe that’s because you make about as good a Companion as your father does a Jarl.” Vilkas’ mouth fell open as Athis and Ria gasped and Njada chuckled with malicious glee and Skjor closed his eye and shook his head.

“You little fucker,” Torvar whispered in disbelieving anger. “I’m going to have your hide for that. I’m going to have your goddamn hide!”

Edric shrugged. “You can have it if you can take it.” The blond came up behind Edric and kicked his chair, and the younger man murmured, “I’m in a shitty mood. Don’t mess with me.”

Skjor barked, “Back off, Torvar. You do _not_ want to go there.”

Torvar leaned close to Edric and sneered, “Whose cock did you suck to—”

Vilkas drew in a sharp breath at the unbelievable insult but had no chance to stop the drunk when Edric’s right elbow came up and smashed Torvar in the nose, making the other man scream in pain and stagger back, holding his face as blood began streaming down onto his tunic. Edric continued eating as if nothing had happened, and Vilkas felt a chill go across his skin that left goose bumps in its wake.

“I could heal that for you, if you say you’re sorry,” Edric offered through a mouthful of venison.

“Fuck you!” Torvar shouted.

“I already told you I wouldn’t. Stop asking.”

Torvar was so enraged his face was nearly purple, and Vilkas said in a tone of disquiet, “All right, enough already. Edric, heal him.” Edric’s tongue ran across his teeth, as if he was considering disobeying, then he continued eating again as he held his right hand Torvar’s direction and directed deep yellow light from his palm towards the other man. The blonde shook his head, lifting the hem of his tunic to wipe his mouth and nose, murder in his blue eyes, and Vilkas said to him in warning, “If I ever, _ever,_ hear you imply that a member of the Circle has taken favors, let alone our Harbinger and his second, I will beat you to within an inch of your life, and you will not be getting healed afterwards. Am I understood?”

“Yeah, I get you,” Torvar muttered. He hissed at Edric, “Next time I’m sober, it’s you and me, in the yard.”

Skjor snorted and shook his head, and Edric nodded and said in an amiable tone, “Sure. Though considering you’re hardly ever sober, I hope you’ll understand if I don’t hold my breath.”

Torvar seethed, and Skjor waved his hand at him and tiredly said, “Just get the hell out of here. You’re cut off for the night.” Torvar kept staring at Edric’s back as if he hadn’t heard, breathing hard, then the drunk turned and unsteadily walked away. Once Torvar was out of earshot Skjor muttered to Edric, “You’re not doing yourself any favors, lad.”

“He’s nobody,” Edric said in quiet dismissal. He glanced at the older man and prompted, “You were saying? About my time?”

Skjor took a deep breath then slowly let it out. “Last week a scholar came here. Said he knew where we could find another fragment of Wuuthrad.” Vilkas looked surprised at that, and Skjor shrugged one shoulder and said to him, “He seemed a fool to me, but if he’s right, our honor demands that we seek it out. I’d like Edric to go get it.”

Edric nodded. “Sure, I can do that.”

“I know it seems a simple errand, but Kodlak and I feel this would make a good Trial for you. Carry yourself with honor and you will become a full Companion.”

“Yes sir. Where’s the fragment?”

“Dustman’s Cairn. About a day’s ride northeast of here.” Edric thought for a moment then nodded. “I had thought to send Farkas with you as your shield-sibling, however he just returned from a job, and Kodlak feels he may not be impartial enough for the task, since he feels he owes you his life.” Skjor glanced over Edric’s head at Vilkas then continued to the young man, “Therefore Vilkas here will accompany you on your Trial.”

Edric laughed and shook his head then started digging into his food again. “Sure. Why the hell not. It’ll be fun.”

Vilkas hissed at Skjor, “You bastard.”

“What’s the problem, brother?” the older man countered. “Do we need to question your impartiality as well?”

“That isn’t it at all. It’s _him,”_ he said, nodding his chin towards Edric. “Him and his smart mouth.” He could just imagine the torment of Edric’s sass the entire way there and back, the strain of trying not to react to his well-timed jabs and insults. If the whelp was bold enough to insult a Jarl and a Companion in the same breath there was nothing he wouldn’t do, and Vilkas was self-aware enough to know that he was not only an easy but tempting target.

Edric shrugged one shoulder and stated, “I’m all business while on a job.” He smiled at Vilkas sideways and added, “I promise I won’t disappoint. Or get you killed.” He reached for the full bottle of ale in front of him then paused, and after a moment he flexed his hand then sat back. “When do you want to head out? I have obligations tonight and in the morning, but I can leave after lunch tomorrow.”

“What obligations?” Vilkas spat. “How the hell can you have obligations?”

“Why wouldn’t I have obligations? I made some promises I intend to keep, and that’s that. Will lunchtime do or not?”

Vilkas struggled with how to answer. If he made things difficult he would look like a petulant child. If he readily agreed it would look like Edric was in charge, and that was something Vilkas couldn’t tolerate. The whelp would _never_ have any authority over Vilkas. He would die before he let that happen. He finally pushed his chair back and stood, saying in annoyance, “We will leave the morning after.”

“You really want to waste an entire afternoon’s travel time?”

“The fewer nights I spend on the road with you the better.”

“Suit yourself.”

Vilkas turned away, feeling cheated somehow, and heard Skjor offer to spar with Edric tomorrow afternoon, to which the whelp readily agreed. Well then, that was something Vilkas wasn’t about to miss. Skjor was the toughest of all the members of the Circle, his experience and stamina outweighing Vilkas’ skill, Farkas’ strength or Aela’s speed. Vilkas would be more than happy to watch the older man put the arrogant pup in his place.

** Farkas **

Farkas’ heart leapt into his throat at the sound of a soft knock on his door. He had been wondering how he was going to get Edric from the common quarters without waking up the others, and this had to be Edric; Vilkas always pounded on the door even when he wasn’t angry, and Vilkas was certainly angry tonight. He had shut himself in his room after dinner, furious about being sent on a job with Edric. Vilkas could have refused, but there really wasn’t any way he could do that without looking like a big baby. Farkas didn’t like the idea of his grouchy brother being on the road with Edric, but at least if Vilkas said he was worthy of being a Companion there wouldn’t be any doubt in anyone’s mind.

Farkas opened the door and smiled hesitantly, seeing Edric standing there with a slight frown on his face, looking sad and anxious, then his expression went neutral as he looked up at Farkas. “I uh, I really appreciate this,” the big man murmured.

“That’s why I’m doing it,” Edric replied just as softly. He glanced behind him at Vilkas’ door. “Is Sweetness asleep?”

Farkas grimaced at the nickname but let it go, trusting Edric to not say it in front of anyone else. Vilkas would go crazy if he found out. “I think so. I heard him pounding on his dummy before he went to bed.”

“Huh, that’s what they call it here?” Farkas let out a guffaw before he caught himself with a hand over his mouth, and Edric chuckled and motioned with his head. “Let’s head out before it gets any later. I can feel the weather changing and don’t want to get caught in a downpour.”

“Really?” Farkas said with interest, going back inside his room to pull on his boots. “I’ve heard of that. Skjor can sometimes tell when it’s going to rain. His body really got beat to hell when he was a soldier. You can tell the old wounds still hurt sometimes.” Edric didn’t answer right away, and when Farkas glanced at him he was staring at the full bottle of mead on the bar then he licked his lips and looked away. Well that was going to stop, at least in here. While Edric was gone on his Trial, Farkas was going to clean every single bottle of anything out of his room, along with the old empty kegs. He’d keep the bar, since it was a nice height for whittling at comfortably, but every other reminder of drinking had to go. Edric’s drinking obviously made him unhappy, so Farkas would make his room the one place it wasn’t a temptation.

“Yeah, mine too,” Edric murmured.

“What’s that?” he asked in confusion. He’d forgotten what they were talking about.

“The old wounds. That’s how I can feel the weather changing. It makes my bones ache. The ones that have been broken. You can heal them, but…it leaves a memory behind. You’re never quite the same afterward.”

Edric looked up and saw Farkas gazing at him with worry, then Farkas shook himself and grabbed up an oiled leather cloak and his great-sword. He then stopped and made a face as he muttered, “I hadn’t really thought about how we’re going to get out there. You, I mean.” Edric wasn’t a member of the Circle, and it was forbidden for any but the Circle to even see the Underforge being opened.

“Skjor said you can take me through the Underforge, as long as I keep my eyes closed the entire time. I promised him I would.”

“Oh. Okay.” It was a relief to hear, and touching that Edric had talked to Skjor about it. As he closed his bedroom door Farkas suddenly realized that to lead Edric through the Underforge he’d have to guide him through it. Hold onto him. Maybe even hold his hand. The thought was a bit stressful and exciting all at once. Edric wasn’t wearing gauntlets, either. The younger man was wearing dark wool pants with a studded leather gambeson and knee-high boots with hard soles; a baldric was slung across his chest with Stormfang on his back, and he was holding a quiver of steel arrows and a dwarven bow on his right shoulder. Edric felt his attention and glanced up at him then blushed and looked away. _Blushed._

“Well then,” Edric murmured, “lead on.”

Farkas nodded and stifled a sigh as he headed out, trying to keep a lid on his emotions. Edric had blushed. Farkas shoved the thought away but it came back to him over and over again as they quietly made their way out of a sleepy Jorrvaskr, encountering no one as they went. It was late at night, sometime after eleven, and unless they were feasting everyone was usually asleep by nine, ten at the very latest.

They reached the door to the Underforge and before Farkas could say anything Edric pointedly looked away. Farkas looked around then quickly hit the hidden control that opened the door. Edric turned back and his eyes were squeezed shut, and when the younger man held out his hand Farkas bit his lip and tentatively took it. When Edric’s fingers wrapped around his own it was all Farkas could do not to let out a whine of longing. He’d never held another man’s hand before. It was such a simple thing, but there was something so intimate about it that he felt himself stirring. He gritted his teeth and tried to think of anything but sex, and it was impossible. It was silent inside the small cavern and it magnified the sound of Edric’s breathing, and their linked hands kept them close. Edric’s skin was warm, as a Nord’s always was, and lightly calloused, slender but still masculine.

Farkas silently led him through the rough tunnel that exited the Underforge, all the while unable to think of anything but the feel of Edric’s hand holding his. And it was. It would have been easy enough for Edric to simply offer his hand and let Farkas tug him along, and instead Edric held Farkas’ hand in turn. Not tightly, but he was holding it of his own accord. They reached the end of the tunnel and he sensed outward, listening intently and sniffing to make sure no one was on the other side, then he pulled the chain that opened the door that guarded the exit. Once they were on the other side and it slid closed he murmured, “You can open your eyes now.”

Edric opened his eyes and blinked a couple times, then he said in surprise, “This is the exit?” Farkas made a sound of assent. It was the remains of an old guard post, with a high ledge, a barrel and a few old crates, just above the Battle-Born farm. Edric made a sound of dread and said, “The Silver Hand could find this much too easily, Farkas.”

“I’ve smelled people in here before. Scent they left behind. Never seen any sign that anyone’s tried to get in though.” He realized Edric’s hand was still in his, and he waited for the other man to let go, because Farkas wasn’t about to be the first to do so. He cleared his throat and went on, “Uh, I…we can tell when someone is on the other side. When we’re inside, before the door is opened. And we always make sure no one is around when we go back in. And you can’t see the door from this side.”

“All right, but…I had no idea the exit was this obvious. Shit, that’s scary.” His fingers slid out of Farkas’ hand and he walked to the ledge then squatted and hopped down. Edric peeked out of the opening then held his hand up to Farkas and warned, “Don’t panic.”

“Why would…” He trailed off as Edric’s right hand lit up with a pale blue glow, and the younger man slowly walked out of the ruined tower as he scanned the surrounding area. When he let his hand fall the light died, and Farkas whispered in shock, “You’re a mage?”

“No, not…really. I suppose I’m technically a spellsword, but I don’t always use magic when I’m fighting.” Edric rubbed the back of his neck then looked up at Farkas, and it wasn’t hard to see the guarded look there even in the dark. “I know how the Companions feel about magic in their ranks. It’s short-sighted in my opinion, but I came here intending to respect that.” He made a bitter, scoffing sound and looked back out at the slowly turning windmill, its creak the only sound evident at the moment. “Funny how everyone was excited that I could heal. As if that talent miraculously springs from some different source than other magics.” When Farkas didn’t respond he rubbed his hand over his face then let his hand fall. “All I was doing was seeing if anyone was around. A spell to Detect Life. It was how I knew how many Silver Hand were attacking you and where they were in the dark.”

When Edric said nothing else, standing silently with his back to Farkas, Farkas jumped down from the ledge and stared at him for a minute, not knowing what to say. He nearly asked _Does Kodlak know?_ but even he wasn’t that stupid. Of course Kodlak knew. Kodlak knew everything about Edric.

“Okay then, let’s get this over with,” Edric muttered as he started walking, making his way around the hill to head northeast.

Farkas’ expression crumpled as he watched Edric’s back retreat and heard a soft huffing sound then a shuddering intake of breath followed by the faintest whispered _Should’ve known…_ so faint that even his enhanced hearing could barely make it out. When the younger man disappeared out of sight Farkas made a sound of anxiety and hurried after him. He could only imagine what that sad sound and faint whisper meant, and none of the options were good. It definitely meant that he had hurt Edric, and that was something he had sworn to himself he would never do.

He caught up to Edric and stated, “I’m sorry.”

“For what, being a Nord? Being a Companion?” Edric replied, his tone bitter. He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I promised the old man I would stay until spring and try to fit in here and I meant it. I’ll be a good Companion until then. No more magic.”

Farkas grumbled unhappily as they made their way around the backside of Dragonsreach, unseen by the Whiterun guards at their post below next to the road. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings,” he stated quietly. “That’s what I meant.” Edric’s steps faltered slightly then he continued on. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just…surprised. I’ve never seen magic up close except for healing. From…uh, good guys, I guess. I’ve seen it plenty from bad guys.” Edric didn’t answer as they passed below the Great Porch. Farkas looked up at it and said, “Everyone says the Dragonborn was really good with magic. That he could’ve been the Archmage of the College of Winterhold but wouldn’t take the job. And he was a good guy. Is, I mean.”

“Really.” The muttered response wasn’t much happier than before, but at least it was a response.

“I met him once. The day he caught a dragon up there. He let me go up there with him and look at the dragon. It was one of the greatest days of my life. I wish I could’ve seen him, just once. Before…well, before.” Before Alduin boiled his hair and face away and left him a cripple. Farkas hoped the Dragonborn was finding some kind of peace with the monks, using the thu’um for the glory of Kynareth and the Divines. Every time thunder sounded around the peak of the Throat of the World Farkas knew it must be him. Edric grunted in reply. “Vilkas saw him, the day he confronted Jarl Ulfric, I mean High King Ulfric. Vilkas was really upset about it. I’ve hardly ever seen him like that about anything. About a stranger, I mean.”

“Well, I’m sure it was pretty gruesome.”

“I guess it was. Vilkas said he had nightmares about it off and on for weeks afterwards. He felt awful for the Dragonborn. I guess, just…try to remember that, when he’s being difficult. He does have feelings, he just…squashes them.” Edric grunted again and Farkas assumed it was an affirmative. “Vilkas said the Dragonborn said he was beautiful before. It would be horrible no matter what, but…” Edric didn’t answer. “And then losing his hus—”

Edric stopped abruptly and waved his hand towards the plains. “Where are we going to do this?” he asked curtly.

Farkas swallowed, closing his eyes for a moment as he writhed with guilt. He’d completely forgotten Edric’s own loss while he was blathering along like an idiot, trying to put the younger man at ease and obviously failing miserably. He nearly suggested scrapping the outing entirely but knew that if he did that Edric would really get upset, seeing as they were already out here. “Uh, this way,” he mumbled, moving past Edric, getting a hint of spice and maleness on the breeze as he passed him. He sighed unhappily when it seemed Edric wasn’t going to follow him then he heard the soft crunch of the other man’s feet in the dry grass behind him.

He stayed silent as they headed out into the open fields to the northeast of town, where a small copse of pine trees stood. The Circle often came here as a pack with Aela that one night in the spring. The thought of spring usually made Farkas happy, but now he could only think of it with sorrow, knowing that Edric would be leaving then. Farkas’ big mouth had made it likely too that Edric would think twice before coming back, and might not come back at all, if he even lived through war with the elves. Farkas wasn’t sure what had possessed him to start rattling on like that. He knew what he had intended, but he should have known that mentioning dead loved ones had been a huge mistake. Well, no one had ever said he was smart, but he was usually good with people. Edric was so hard to read that Farkas felt blind around him.

They reached the small grove and Farkas raised his nose to the air, feeling the breeze blowing from the southwest, bearing with it the smell of dry earth and the mixed scents of the city, many of them not so pleasant. That was one thing he wouldn’t miss if Kodlak ever found a cure, and if Farkas decided to take it. His sense of smell in beast form was excruciatingly strong, but at least he was always outdoors and outside a city or town when he changed.

He heard Edric stop and glanced behind him to see the younger man standing by one of the pines, his arms folded tightly, his expression unreadable in the dark. Edric’s hunched posture nearly radiated misery. Farkas made a soft sound of frustration and pulled off his baldric, afraid to say anything else and destroy things beyond all hope. For a brief moment he considered that maybe he was wasting his time. That maybe Edric simply was beyond repair. The moment was very brief. Farkas wasn’t a quitter. He never had been. If Edric really didn’t want Farkas’ attention then he would’ve been clearer about it. Farkas was sure of that.

Farkas braced himself then stated sadly, “I should have kept my stupid mouth shut.” Edric made a sorrowful scoffing sound and shook his head. “I’m not a smart man. I know that. But I know better than to bring up certain things, and I did, and I’m sorry.”

“Stop telling me you’re sorry,” Edric whispered, hunching in on himself further as he looked away.

“But I am, and I can’t just…leave it. Leave you thinking whatever you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking I’m fucked up and it’s best if you do just leave it.”

The choked, anguished statement made Farkas huff in grief. “I don’t believe that. I think you’re hurting and lonely. I told myself I would just stay back and not say anything and let you be the one to choose how everything goes but I can’t do it. If I do you’ll just hurt yourself worse. I’m sorry I added to it but it wasn’t on purpose. I would never hurt you on purpose.” Edric shook his head and rubbed his eyes. Farkas could almost smell the unhappiness pouring off him. He moved closer to the younger man and murmured, “I hate seeing you suffer, Edric. I could see it from the day we met. I want…I wish…” He made a sound of embarrassment and stopped himself before he really blew everything to hell. He sighed heavily and bent over to pull off his boots. “I’ll just…get this over with,” he mumbled. Edric nodded and moved away, and Farkas couldn’t tell if it was to give him privacy, to watch for danger, or just to avoid him altogether.

He kept an eye on Edric while he stripped his clothing off. How he wished he could enjoy this the way he had planned to. The now of beast thought would take care of some of it, but Edric’s pain would linger in the back of Farkas’ mind, tainting the pleasure the hunt brought.

Farkas set his clothing aside at the base of a tree, shivering as a cool breeze hit his nether regions. He was used to stripping in the shelter of the Underforge’s exit tunnel and leaving it furry. He had a good amount of body hair but nothing like his wolf form did. He hesitated, staring at Edric’s back, then he sighed again and let the change sweep through him. The pain hit him in the chest like a hammer and he fell to his knees, groaning loudly. He heard a sound of dismay from Edric but squeezed his eyes shut, afraid to see the fear and disgust there. That was one more thing he hadn’t really thought out ahead of time.

As he felt his teeth sharpen and lengthen and his body stretch in all directions and his skin itch with sprouting fur, the pain retreated and the haze of beast thought clouded his mind. He shook out his fur then raised his muzzle to the sky and howled, and when he heard another sound from Edric he opened his eyes. The young male’s face was now clear as day, though the big, pretty eyes had lost their green, and they stared at Farkas with a look of morbid fascination.

“Farkas,” Edric whispered.

The werewolf yipped and wagged his tail, and when he ran at Edric the young man backed up a few steps, his eyes wide and his hands up in front of him, then he stopped himself and held still. Farkas slowly lowered his nose to Edric’s hair and smelled it, and when that sweet, spicy scent rose up it made him growl happily. He carefully sniffed Edric’s face and neck, the intoxicating smell even stronger there. He rubbed his head against Edric’s and heard a shaky laugh, and when he pulled back to look him in the eyes he saw only curiosity there. Edric slowly lifted his hand and touched the top of Farkas’ head, and the wolf rumbled in pleasure as Edric’s fingers sank into his fur. He nosed along Edric’s cheek, filling his nostrils with the scent he couldn’t get enough of, then he gave the soft, smooth cheek a lick and broke away. He didn’t have much presence of mind, but he had carried the blood long enough to be well aware of the limited time he had to enjoy it.

There were no elk or deer nearby, but he found a burrow of rabbits and dug them out. He left one alive long enough to toss it in the air a few times then shake it in his teeth, and when it died of fright he quickly tore it up and swallowed it down. He felt the time ticking by, barely aware of it, glancing now and then at the pretty male standing watch, his time split between scanning the surrounding area and watching Farkas. How he wished Edric was a werewolf too and they could hunt and run together, and afterwards fall into a tangle in the grass. He had no idea how two males could rut with each other in a wolf’s body, but it would be fun to try.

As he felt his time coming to an end he ran to the water and drank his fill, smashing a mudcrab that came too close, then he ran back up the hill to the rabbit burrow and pounced on the remaining terrified rabbit, breaking its neck then biting off its head to let it bleed out, then he scooped up his prize and ran back to Edric. His pretty face was smiling, his head tilted to the side in interest, and the sway of his braid was almost like a tail wagging. Farkas squatted down and tenderly laid out the rabbit at Edric’s feet, a gift.

“Ah, this is for me?” Edric murmured, not quite a question. He went down on one knee and set his weapons aside, his body so much smaller then the werewolf’s. Tiny. Dainty. Pretty. He petted the rabbit’s fur, and Farkas made a whining sound of yearning, finding him so beautiful he couldn’t stand it. He nosed along Edric’s cheek then rubbed his head against him, and when he felt Edric’s hands in the fur of his neck it made him growl with a growing need. His intended mate had liked the gift of meat and was touching him right where werewolves nipped at each other when they were mating, and he smelled so good, so very very good…

“Uh…” Edric grunted uneasily as Farkas’ growls took on a deeper tone, and he pulled his hands out of the thick fur and leaned back. He yelped in alarm as Farkas gently but forcefully headbutted him and knocked him onto his rear. “Hey big guy,” he said with a wary laugh. “Careful there.” Farkas’ nose drifted down Edric’s body as he sniffed and growled in almost a purr, and when the nose started nearing his crotch Edric squawked and rolled away. He got to his knees and tried to sprint away but a massive clawed hand caught his ankle then the other pushed on his shoulder and shoved him to the ground, knocking the wind out of him.

Farkas huffed happily at the sight of his intended’s round little rump and crawled up the slender body, not really knowing what to do with his very obvious and insistent need other than to start rubbing it against Edric, who made a bewildered half-laughing, half-panicked sound as he tried crawling away again. Farkas reached out to catch his mate again when he felt the first twinges of the beast receding. He shook his head, whining in disappointment, and he squeezed his eyes shut and shuddered as the change reversed itself.

He kept his eyes shut, hearing nothing but the sound of Edric’s slightly quickened breathing beneath him. His appalling behavior came back to him like a slap in the face, and he choked out an obscenity and quickly backed away then leapt to his feet and ran the short distance to the scant shelter of the trees. He pulled on his underclothes then his pants then yanked on his shirt as fast as he could, his face burning with shame. As he pulled on his socks he heard the clank of Edric’s weapons as he picked them up, then a minute later the soft crunch of hesitant footsteps approaching.

Farkas sat down to pull on his boots then groaned and pulled up his knees, putting his face in his hands. “I’m… _so_ sorry,” he choked, humiliated.

Edric sighed in sympathy, “Ah, Farkas…” Farkas heard Edric kneel behind him, one of his knees cracking, then another clattering sound as he set his weapons aside again. “You couldn’t help it,” Edric stated. Farkas didn’t deny that; it was true. “You didn’t hurt me.”

“I could’ve,” he whispered. “You’re so…” Tiny, especially when Farkas was in beast form and gained another foot of height and another fifty pounds in weight. And there was one thing in particular that was very big and very threatening when he was in that form and aroused. It would have been all too easy for Farkas to accidentally maul Edric with his claws just by grabbing at him. He whined and put his hands over his head, feeling a wave of anguish at the thought of what he had done, and nearly done. “Never again,” he choked, shaking his head. “Never.”

“Come on now,” Edric soothed.

“It’ll happen again!”

“Why’s that?”

“Because…” Farkas trailed off, unable to just come out and say it. He could tell Edric was trying to make him say it too, the other man’s tone light but testing. Fishing. It was such a different Edric from the angry, bitter one of a little while ago. And there was no telling how long it would last.

“Because what?”

Farkas muttered, “Because it would all be the same. There’s no reason it wouldn’t happen again. I could’ve hurt you.”

“I wouldn’t let you hurt me. A little scratch is nothing, and it wouldn’t be more than that.” He chuckled and slapped Farkas on the back. “Unless you managed to get that giant wolf cock in the right—” Farkas yelled in horrified embarrassment, cutting him off, and Edric laughed at his discomfiture. “Well shit Farkas, it was enormous. I’m just glad I only felt it and didn’t actually _see_ it. I might’ve fainted.” Farkas sputtered, letting his hands fall. Edric sat down behind him and added in a teasing tone, “I liked the rabbit.”

Farkas demanded in a hurt, angry voice, “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Edric asked in confusion.

“Make fun of me. Patronize me.”

Edric didn’t answer right away, the only sound his breathing, then he said in offense, “You really think that’s what I’m doing? Screwing with you? Insulting you? Why the fuck would I do that?”

“Because I’m nothing but a stupid, horny beast, that’s why. I…I molested you. I sniffed and pawed at you like a piece of meat, then I ran off and fetched game for you and started dry humping you like a stupid fucking dog.”

“Hm, well you must’ve had a good reason for all that. And you call yourself stupid again and I’m gonna have to cuff you upside the head. Just to give you fair warning.” Farkas grumbled. “Hasn’t that ever happened before?”

“Just around Aela,” he muttered. “When she’s in beast form. Especially when she’s in season.”

“In season! Really! Huh. I had no idea that happened.”

“Every spring. Usually sometime in early First Seed. All unmated female werewolves go through it. It’s the only time she lets us anywhere near her, you know, that way. She usually likes being by herself when she’s changed, but that one night every spring she calls the pack together and we get to take turns chasing her and uh, well, um...” He trailed off, feeling awkward, and more than a little embarrassed. It didn’t feel entirely right to discuss this with someone who didn’t share the beastblood. Edric made a sound of curiosity, and Farkas reluctantly went on, “I don’t have any interest in her other than when she’s in beast form, especially the one night she’s in season, but when she is she…smells good, and instinct just takes over. You wouldn’t even be able to stay away from her if you were one of us.”

Edric laughed, “Riiiight. I’ve never touched a woman in my life and not even that would be enough to make me.”

“Not even once?” Farkas replied in amazement.

“Nope.” He gestured with his hands and said in mild distaste, “The boobs. The curves. Their voices. The monthly thing, gah. Women make great friends but if I had to choose between an ugly guy and a gorgeous woman, I’d still have to take the guy. I can’t help it. I like men. I…did…”

Edric cut off with a sudden sound of pain, and when Farkas glanced back over his shoulder he saw the younger man’s eyes were closed, his expression of grief barely visible in the dark.

“Tell me why you did it,” Edric demanded in a harsh whisper. When Farkas didn’t answer right away, confused, he pressed, “The hawk. The sniffing, the licking and growling. The…the rabbit.” When he still didn’t answer Edric yelled, “Give me a reason, dammit!”

Farkas swallowed, flinching, and looked forward again. A reason. Edric wanted a reason. But it was more than that, Farkas knew. Edric was asking for a reason to risk his heart again, as if he was terrified of it. Farkas didn’t blame him one bit. But it wasn’t as if Farkas wasn’t afraid of all this too, just a little. He began in a halting tone, “I…made the hawk because you saved my life and you worship Kynareth, and because when I saw you fighting those Silver Hand you were just like the breath of Kyne, the way you blew through them. Just like I told Vilkas. That’s all there was to that.” He took a deep breath and sighed in embarrassment and admitted, “I can’t help sniffing you. I have a strong sense of smell, because of what I am, and it’s even stronger when I’m a beast. You…you smell good. Really good. Like…spicy. But a sweet spicy. Like the cinnamon Tilma used to put in our porridge. Your smell, it…every time I smell it, it makes me happy, like…” Like he’d found something he hadn’t even known he was missing. “I uh, gave you the rabbit…it was…a gift. A…uh…c-courting gift.” He added in embarrassment, “In a dumb wolf way, I guess. I know it’s stu--, uh, silly. But it seemed like a good idea at the time.” Gods, that came out awkward. He never had been good with words, not like his brother, but even Vilkas would have had a hard time with this.

It was silent, and the silence stretched on for so long that Farkas nearly said something, nearly asked if that was answer enough, then he finally heard Edric swallow as his breathing grew uneven, could hear the rapid beat of the other man’s heart, then a soft peep of a question, full of so many mixed emotions Farkas couldn’t begin to sort them out.

“Courting gift?”

Farkas hesitated then quietly said, “I asked Kodlak if it was okay to court you and he gave me his blessing.” There, he said it. Edric’s breathing grew so stressed that Farkas feared he was going to start crying, or maybe take off running. “I didn’t know you were going to war when I asked. I didn’t know you’d be…leaving. I guess Kodlak knew, but…”

“He doesn’t know everything he thinks he does.”

The bitter, resentful statement was a little shocking. “Like what? I thought he knew you were going to war next spring.”

“I wasn’t planning on ever coming back.” Farkas drew in a sharp breath. “To Whiterun. To Skyrim. To…anything.”

“You were going to stay in the south?” he asked in dismay. “Why?”

“No, I was going to…I was…” Edric made an almost wailing sound of frustration. “I had it all planned out. I…I was going to be with my man again in Sovngarde and that old fucker is ruining everything!”

Horrified, Farkas turned and looked at him. Edric had his knees drawn up and his forehead on his forearms, shivering, but it wasn’t that cold out. “No,” he whispered fearfully. “Tell me you weren’t going to do it!” He didn't like hearing Edric call Kodlak that either. It just wasn't right, no matter how upset Edric was.

“I was going to let the elves do it. I was going to fight them to the end then let them kill me. I don’t have the guts to do it myself so someone else has to.”

“No. _No._ Tell me you won’t. Promise me you won’t!” This all had to be the most awful thing Farkas had ever heard in his life. He couldn’t even begin to understand the kind of hurt that would drive someone so pretty and talented to suicide. That would drive anyone to it.

“Give me a reason not to.”

Realizing things couldn’t get any worse, Farkas grimaced then decided to be honest. He usually was, but he’d been afraid of scaring off Edric, but things were worse than he’d imagined, and maybe this was the only way. Just put it all out there and hope for the best, because this was pretty bad. “Me. I want to be the reason.” Edric’s shivering stopped as he went still, though he didn’t lift his head. Farkas cleared his throat and ignored the warmth in his cheeks then went on, “That morning, after you saved my life…when I saw your face and you smiled at me, it was like…it was like…” He faltered, not having the words to describe it, so he wasn’t even going to try. “We went to sleep and when I woke up you were in my arms and you fit there just right, and I smelled that sweet smell, and ever since then you’re all I think about, all the time.”

Edric made a sound of bewilderment and lifted his head, staring straight ahead of him. Farkas continued, “I know I’m not smart. I can’t even read. I know you could do better than me, a lot better, but…I’d be good to you. I’d always put you first.” Edric closed his eyes and rubbed them with one hand then kept it there, his knees still drawn up. “I know I kind of scared you, with the bird and…and whatever you saw on my face that made you run away, but you came back, and when you played that lute I just knew…I knew you were the one for me. Maybe I’m not the one for you, but if you gave it time, maybe you could love me someday.”

Farkas left it at that. Edric made a soft sound of sorrowful surprise as he lowered his hand and opened his eyes. He stared up at the distant lights of the city, the bobbing torches of the guards walking the walls and the warm windows of Dragonsreach, and Farkas let him be, to sort out whatever it was he was thinking. Maybe it wasn’t good, but that Edric had told him at all what his plans had been for the end of the war—and his life—meant something. He hadn’t had to tell Farkas anything, but he had, and Farkas chose to believe that somewhere deep inside Edric had said it because he knew Farkas could change his mind. _Give me a reason!_ That told Farkas that Edric wasn’t really committed to ending his life, that he was really just crying out for help. If he really wanted to die he would’ve said nothing and just gone out and done it. Farkas had the feeling too that Kodlak really did know how bad off Edric was, and that was why he had given his blessing to something he otherwise would have discouraged.

Farkas turned back around to give Edric some semblance of privacy. He tucked his pants into his boots then waited patiently, raising his nose to the night breeze and taking some measure of contentment from a pleasurable hunt, even if it was just a bunch of rabbits. It would placate his beast for another week or two, anyway.

He finally heard a long exhalation behind him then Edric shifted in the grass. Farkas stayed where he was, waiting, and when he felt the barest touch of a hand on his back, barely more than the light touch of Edric’s fingertips, he held his breath, feeling a spark of hope. Well, he’d always had that, but then he heard Edric shift again and felt the other man’s warmth lean against his back, sending his heart into his throat. Farkas felt Edric lay his cheek against his shoulder as the younger man huddled against him, as if trying to get some kind of comfort from the touch without going so far as to let Farkas hold him. But how he wanted to. The feel of Edric against him was wonderful and torture at the same time.

“I would never do you wrong, I swear,” Farkas murmured. He felt Edric nod. “I’m sorry you’re sad, but at least let me try to make it better.” Edric didn’t answer or even nod that time, but he didn’t move away either, and after a few minutes of silence Farkas felt Edric sigh against his back as he shifted a bit but stayed there.

“Can I think about it? Until after the 13th?”

That was still over two weeks away, but that was okay. Farkas understood why. “Sure,” he said with a nod. “Whatever you want. I won’t push.”

“I might be away for a little while. Around then.”

“I understand.” It was quiet for a few minutes, then Farkas changed the subject, saying, “I’m worried about your Trial. Because of Vilkas. I heard about what happened in the hall, with Torvar being an asshole and Vilkas getting snotty. Athis told me.”

“Torvar is going to get his ass kicked,” Edric stated quietly. “I’ll manage Vilkas. I won’t let him dominate me, but I won’t provoke him, I promise. Though it seems all I have to do is be around for that to happen.”

“Vilkas…he uh, he’s mad because he knows I…have feelings for you. He wants me to court Narri with him. The barmaid at Dead Man’s Drink in Falkreath.”

“Huh. Well, she is gorgeous, I have to admit.” Edric snorted a tired laugh. “Though with his total lack of charisma, I think it would be you who’d end up doing all the courting on his behalf.”

Farkas growled, “I’m not courting her. I’m courting you.” He faltered then added, “If you decide to let me.”

Edric sighed, sitting up from Farkas’ broad back, and the big man tried not to grumble over losing the comforting warmth, but at least Edric stayed there. “It isn’t that,” Edric mumbled. “If it would be anyone, it would be you. It’s…I don’t know if I can take it again. It was too…intense. Especially with the war and everything else that was going on that whole time.”

“You were together through the whole war?”

“Three years. We…I…I loved him from the first time I saw him, but…” Edric let out a tiny, awkward laugh. “He was mostly straight and I had to chase him a little. It wasn’t…maybe it wasn’t the best match, but we were best friends and he loved me the best he could, considering. I sometimes think, if I had been the one who died instead of him, maybe he would’ve been better off than I’ve been. I know it wasn’t…equal. The feelings involved.”

Dismayed, Farkas turned sideways. Edric had a look of deep despair on his face. Hopelessness. He ventured, “Well I uh, felt the way I do from the first time I saw you, and I know I feel more than you do, but that’s okay. There’s usually one who loves more than the other.” Edric sighed and drew up his knees again, and Farkas lightly patted him on the back in an attempt to comfort, fully expecting the other man to pull away. To his surprise and pleasure Edric leaned into him instead. He put his arm around him, enjoying the feel of the smaller, more slender body against him. He’d slept with other human races before, Bretons and Imperials, even a few Redguards, but mostly Nords, and yet something about Edric’s height and build was just right. And there was that wonderful smell again.

Feeling and hearing a sniff in his hair, Edric murmured, “He always told me I smelled good too, but he could never describe it exactly.”

“Yeah. I wonder what it is.” Edric grunted, and Farkas couldn’t help thinking that Edric knew exactly what it was. “Not that it matters,” he added carefully. Edric could keep his secrets, if it made him feel safer. Farkas would just have to earn his trust and get everything out of him bit by bit, until Farkas knew the whole story. There was a whole hell of a lot to it, that was for sure. Edric was someone important. Someone special. Farkas could only hope that someone like that would find someone like him worthy of courtship someday. With any luck someday soon.

They sat quietly for a few minutes, neither saying anything, then Edric softly said, “This is nice.”

“Mm-hm. We probably should go back though. It’s got to be after midnight.” Edric sighed and nodded, shifting away from Farkas, whose arm fell away. As Edric stood it was all Farkas could do not to sniff after him, but he’d already embarrassed himself enough for one night. Edric gathered up his weapons and Farkas stood and raised his arms over his head to stretch, and he was gratified to see Edric watching him discreetly. It was a start. He picked up his great-sword and slung the baldric over his head. “I heard you have a sparring match with Skjor tomorrow.”

“Yeah, should be interesting. I haven’t sparred in a long time. I might be a little out of practice, so this’ll be good for me.”

“I’m surprised my brother hasn’t challenged you yet.”

Farkas could practically hear Edric rolling his eyes as they started walking back toward the city. “He’s probably waiting until he gets a better feel for my abilities. You can bet he’ll be front and center tomorrow afternoon. Probably feeling pissy as hell over me working with Ria.”

“Probably,” Farkas admitted with regret. He supposed it had been naïve of him to expect his twin to like Edric when Vilkas hardly liked anyone anymore. Vilkas didn’t even like himself. Still, it would’ve been nice if they got along. Maybe someday they would be brothers-in-law, and then they’d have to get along.

“Aw hell, my rabbit!” Edric suddenly exclaimed. He turned back.

“Huh? Oh. That. It was just a rabbit,” he said in embarrassment.

“It was a gift. From you. I’d like to have it.”

Farkas smiled broadly at him then went with him to help him find it, though he had to resort to sniffing it out in the dark. His heart sang when Edric clapped his hands together once in delight when Farkas found it. He held it out to Edric, who knelt down and quickly and skillfully dressed it out.

“I’m going to keep the fur, and Tilma could use the meat,” Edric stated. “It’s a nice coney.”

“It is,” Farkas said in agreement. Edric slung the rabbit over his shoulder and they headed back, and all Farkas could think about was that this was how it could be all the time. A mate to hunt at his side and lounge with in the grass, one who was not only beautiful but strong and smart. Edric was perfect for Farkas in every way, he just knew it. Sometimes people were just lucky and found the one person in the world who completed them. Farkas had never imagined he would, but now that he had he’d do anything at all to keep him. Anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was my mini tribute to just about the most heartbreaking line I've ever heard in a movie: "I'm not a smart man, but I know what love is." Farkas is no Forrest Gump, but, well, there you go.
> 
> While I'm being disgustingly sappy, the second part of the chapter was also inspired by Bob Dylan's 'Make You Feel My Love' done by Bryan Ferry. The song is overdone, I know, but still fitting.


	11. Chapter 11

** Vilkas – 29th of Heartfire, 4E205 **

Irritably rubbing the remains of sleep from his eyes, Vilkas headed upstairs to catch a quick bite to eat. He had overslept, again, after a miserable night of tossing and turning. He couldn’t have gotten more than a few hours sleep altogether, too riled about knowing his brother was out with Edric. It made Vilkas furious that a whelp had been allowed through the Underforge and then allowed to see a member of the Circle transform and hunt. It was unconscionable, and what was even worse was that Skjor had put his seal of approval on the matter.

Vilkas growled in rage as he saw Edric holding open the back door for Ria, both dressed in light leather training armor. His hunger forgotten, he stormed through the hall then outside, and when Ria saw him she squealed in fright and moved behind Edric. The young man gazed at him calmly, a complete lack of concern in his green eyes. Cocky. Arrogant. Disrespectful. _Insolent._ Vilkas said through gritted teeth, “It isn’t enough you steal my brother, but you have to steal my student as well?” He heard sounds of concern from the others outside, Aela and Athis practicing small blades. Torvar was nowhere to be seen, but Njada looked up from the training dummy she was whacking with a look of wicked delight.

Edric stated, “I wasn’t aware that Farkas and Ria weren't allowed to make their own choices.” Vilkas practically ground his teeth, his fists clenched. “I have no quarrel with you, Vilkas. It isn’t personal. Whatever is or isn’t between me and Farkas is private. He’s a grown man and can do whatever he wants without clearing it with you first. Ria’s a full Companion and can train with whomever she likes, again, without the need to clear it with you.” Vilkas bared his teeth and snarled.

“Edric,” Ria whispered in terror.

“Vilkas!” Aela barked. He ignored her and closed in on Edric, sending Ria running with a shriek.

Edric stood his ground and warned Vilkas, “I will _hurt_ you, Vilkas. I don’t care how much bigger you are than me, I will lay you out flat.”

“You don’t have it in you,” Vilkas growled. “You’re nothing but a little yapping dog. A crowing little rooster.”

“I can tell you didn’t sleep well. It wouldn’t be a fair—” Vilkas threw himself at the smaller man, swinging at him, and Edric ducked and shouted, “I mean it! I don’t want to hurt you!” Vilkas came at him again, and Edric sighed and darted in and slugged the Companion in the gut with his right, doubling him over, then he swung with his left and cracked Vilkas in the cheek, sending him to his knees.

Vilkas shook his head in an attempt to clear it, and he saw Aela’s boots come into his field of vision. In double. He convulsed slightly as he felt a wave of nausea from his aching gut while his jaw throbbed, then soothing relief flowed into him in the form of yellow light. He surged to his feet, glaring hatefully at Edric, while a tiny part of his mind marveled at how freakishly strong the smaller man was. And somehow, _somehow_ he knew that Edric had pulled his punches. “What the fuck are you!” he hissed. Edric didn’t answer, staring at his left hand with a look of confusion, obviously in pain, as if he hadn’t heard Vilkas at all. Vilkas’ anger faltered as Edric raised both his hands and they glowed yellow, and instead of the magic swirling around Edric’s body it stayed gathered in his hands, as if it had nowhere to go. The magic died as Edric slowly lowered his hands then began massaging the left with his right, looking deeply worried, then his expression went blank as he raised his eyes to Vilkas’.

Aela stepped between the two men, breaking the mutual stare, and she poked a finger into her shield-brother’s chest then pointed behind him at the mead hall. Vilkas growled quietly then turned away and went inside, hearing Aela follow, and once they were inside the doors she caught his shoulder and leaned close.

“You are dangerously close to being judged again by the Circle,” she whispered angrily. “I know where to find plenty of cages that are designed to hold feral werewolves, brother. Don’t make us haul one into the Underforge to keep you in.” A chill went up Vilkas’ spine, and he nodded as he folded his arms. “Edric could have left you there on the ground. I would have. Whatever quarrel you have with him, you had better resolve it while you two are on the road.”

“There will be no resolution as long as my idiot brother is infatuated with him.”

Aela sneered at him. “Did you at some point carve your name into Farkas’ ass when I wasn’t looking? Or Ria’s? How is it Edric’s fault Farkas is sweet on him? I don’t like the idea of shield-siblings carrying on any more than you do, believe me, but each man and woman here is their own. Kodlak would tell you the same. Any of us would.” She snorted then added, “And have you looked at him? It’s like Dibella—”

“Farkas promised me,” Vilkas said in a near hiss, cutting her off. “He made me a promise and now he’s breaking it.”

“What promise?”

“A promise about our future. He’s…violating it, by fixating on that…that _person_ out there.” He didn’t know what else to call Edric. Most of the time he seemed very much a man, but then every so often he would move a certain way, speak a certain way, and that hair… It was confusing as hell.

Aela put her hands on her hips, her tongue in her cheek. “Uh huh. When did you two make that promise, when you were twelve? Grow the fuck up, Vilkas.” She turned on her heel and shoved the back door open, going back out to the yard.

“Bitch,” he growled. He went to the table and threw himself into a chair, seething. No, the twins hadn’t been twelve, they’d been in their early twenties, and promises didn’t have time limits on them, unless you specifically put them there, and the twins hadn’t. Vilkas hadn’t anyway, and he supposed Farkas had never really had a lot to say about the matter except _Sure Vilkas._ He would nod in that amiable way of his and agree to whatever Vilkas said, and now Vilkas had to wonder if his brother had ever really meant it. Had to wonder if Farkas had agreed all along just to keep Vilkas off his back, while he went on behind the scenes doing whatever he wanted and bedding only men all this time and living some kind of weird double life.

As he was eating he heard his brother’s heavy steps come up the stairs, then they paused briefly, no doubt upon seeing Vilkas hunched over his plate, then continued on their way outside. Farkas was probably going out there to say good morning to his little sweetheart. The big oaf was no doubt quite happy this morning, after going out for a hunt last night with pretty boy and doing gods knew what else out there. He’d heard Farkas come back well after midnight. He had to admit though that Farkas had gone to bed alone. He’d heard only a single set of footsteps going to Farkas’ room. But maybe it was just because he and Edric had done it out on the plains, rutting like a couple of mindless animals in the grass. Farkas had only a single bed in his room. There was really no reason for any of the Circle to have a double bed, as Skjor and Vilkas did, as it was frowned upon to bring bedmates back to Jorrvaskr. Well how convenient for Farkas that his bedmate lived here.

Vilkas clenched his fists, and he felt the wolf ring cutting into his hand. He ran his thumb along the band, hating it with a passion. It was a collar. A leash, bringing his wolf to heel. And doing a shitty job of it. He was glad to not have the added worry of fearing an involuntary change, but his mood was so constantly foul and his stress levels so high that every day was nearly intolerable, and he feared that one day it would grow to the point where he would voluntarily change and hurt someone. He grudgingly admitted that Ria was within her rights to find another trainer, and he admitted his behavior a little bit ago toward the newblood had been unwarranted. If Kodlak found out the old man would rip Vilkas a new one, protective of Edric as the Harbinger was. And Skjor was. And Aela was. Everyone just _loved_ adorable little Edric, except for Torvar and Vilkas. Even Njada had become somewhat tolerant of the whelp. Vilkas wondered if it should bother him that he and Torvar were in such exclusive company.

Feeling a twinge of embarrassment that cooled his temper, Vilkas finished eating then went back to his room and closed himself inside and began to pace, his nerves frayed. He had no idea at all how he was going to manage being on a job with Edric. The knowledge that Edric was aware of Vilkas’ nature was only a small comfort. He was expected to stay back and simply observe how Edric carried himself and completed the mission, providing backup only when needed. Most newbloods needed quite a bit of backup. Edric obviously would not. Vilkas supposed watching Edric’s match against Skjor this afternoon would show him just how little.

** Farkas **

“I wish you could use Vilkas’ training sword,” Farkas said with regret. He was standing by Edric as the younger man looked over the weapons rack, deciding what to use in his match against Skjor. It was turning out to be more than either had expected as all the Companions assembled outside, even Kodlak demanding to be assisted out onto the porch to watch, bundled against the crisp weather. It had rained early in the morning, and again at lunch, so it was wet out here, but the air was fresh and Tilma thought it would be good for him. Even Eorlund and Avulstein had stopped their work and were sitting at the edge of the Skyforge overlooking the yard.

“Nah, I think I’m going sword-and-shield for this one, same as Skjor,” Edric answered. “Keep things evenly matched. Though he’s going to have the edge today. I’m pretty out of practice for this sort of thing. My being a lefty might throw him a bit, but probably not for long.” He went through several combinations before settling on one he was satisfied with, and when he turned back to look at everyone he muttered, “Nothing like keeping it low key.”

“Well, this is pretty exciting for everyone. Word really got around about you besting Vilkas in the yard during your test.”

“I wish it hadn’t.”

Farkas didn’t answer, hearing the resentment in Edric’s voice. Aela had told Farkas right away about the incident this morning, how Vilkas had attacked Edric and the smaller man had knocked him down without any effort. Farkas had seen his twin sulking at the table but hadn’t realized why at the time. And now his twin was sitting at Kodlak’s side, helping Tilma wrap warm furs around the Harbinger, who was squinting against the light outside, gray as it was. Farkas couldn’t remember the last time the old man had come upstairs to the mead hall, let alone come outside. Everyone was happy to see him out here, but it only highlighted how terribly thin and frail he was. Farkas feared that he was deteriorating even more quickly than anyone realized. Farkas feared Kodlak wouldn’t even live to see the turning of the year and the New Life festival. Though it hadn’t been much of a festival the last four years with only a dead tree to dance around. Hardly anyone had even bothered dancing last year. It had been kind of depressing, actually, with the vampires still causing problems back then too; everyone had been afraid to be out at night for fear of an attack. Well, the Gildergreen was still dead, but at least there were no more vampires as far as anyone knew.

Unaware of Farkas’ thoughts, Edric softly went on, “I just want to get along. With Vilkas, I mean. Fuck Torvar, he can go to Oblivion for all I care, but…Vilkas is your brother.”

“That makes me happy to hear that,” Farkas murmured back. “I swear my brother isn’t a bad person. His beast, it…it’s tearing him apart.”

“I know. I know he isn’t really a bad person. I can tell, no matter how he tries to hide it.” He put the sword on his shoulder and went on, “Kodlak feels he’s close to finding a cure. He had Skjor bring down another batch of books from the archives up at Dragonsreach. Old journals and such.”

Farkas nodded, aware of that. Jorrvaskr had nowhere to keep a library, and so the Companions had always kept their records up at the palace by arrangement with an endless succession of Jarls, but only the Companions had the key; not every Jarl had known what the Circle was. Not every Jarl could be trusted. Vignar knew; he would have been a member of the Circle but had been nearly sixty when he returned to Jorrvaskr, and people that age just didn’t survive the initial transformation. Sometimes even younger folk didn’t.

Edric continued, “I know being cured won’t solve the fundamental problem of his temperament, but it would help with how he reacts to everything. It’s as if he’s seeing threats everywhere that don’t exist. Or exaggerating them, rather. I want to get along with him. Especially if…well.”

Farkas bit his lip against a warm smile, unable to help a small, goofy sound from slipping out, one that he didn’t think he had ever made before. Edric laughed quietly, gazing up at him with sparkling eyes, his sweet mouth quirked into a little smile. At that moment Farkas found it impossible to believe that Edric wouldn’t end up deciding to leave himself open to courtship. Edric’s final little comment had made it clear that he was seriously considering it. He wanted to get along with Vilkas because Vilkas might someday be his brother by marriage.

“You’re too handsome for your own good,” Edric said in amusement. “Or mine,” he added with a wink as he turned away.

 _Merciful Mara,_ Farkas thought in desperation as he watched Edric walk away, the tip of his braid swinging enticingly just above his tight little backside, clad in leather. Edric had said Farkas was handsome. He’d winked at him, where everyone could see it.

Farkas glanced at the porch where everyone was gathered, and everyone’s eyes were on Edric and Skjor meeting in the open courtyard. Everyone’s eyes but Vilkas’. His twin’s silver eyes were on Farkas, sullen and resentful. Hurt. Well damn if he was going to feel guilty about it. Kodlak’s words from yesterday still rang in him, the old man wondering if Vilkas viewed Farkas as an extension of himself and not really his own person. Farkas couldn’t help thinking that his brother honestly did think he was too stupid to make his own choices, as if he didn’t have the brains to make valid decisions for himself like any other adult. Farkas knew that Jergen had told Vilkas to take care of Farkas, but they were just kids at the time. How the hell could Farkas be a member of the Circle if he wasn’t competent enough to take care of himself? How could Vilkas think Farkas would be a proper husband and father to a wife and children if he couldn’t even make his own choices? Maybe Vilkas thought he would oversee all that too.

Kodlak nudged Vilkas with his elbow and he pulled his gaze away from Farkas’ scowl. Farkas grumbled and went to the porch and took a seat on a bench at the outdoor table, across from Athis, who lifted a single red eyebrow at him inquiringly. Farkas grunted and leaned his elbow on the table, hoping his cheeks weren’t as flushed as they felt. He wasn’t ashamed of his feelings for Edric, but it wasn’t as if he wanted everyone to make it their business.

Skjor and Edric walked out to the center of the training yard, and the old one-eyed warrior greeted Edric with a Legionnaire’s salute. Edric returned it solemnly then the two men walked about ten feet apart and readied themselves. Farkas had never seen Skjor salute anyone like that before. Ever. And Edric had taken it seriously. It was easy to forget about the time both men had spent in the Legion, fighting for the Empire. Skjor didn’t seem to hold Edric’s being a Stormcloak against him. Skjor had always disliked talking about the Great War and had had little to say about the civil war other than a rather vague comment about there being no honor in the squabbling of Jarls.

The sound of both men charging at each other with a roared Nord battle cry made Ria let out a peep of fear before she covered it, and Athis shuddered, though both managed to not flee from the terrifying sound. The shout rang off the stone walls, soon followed by the clash of swords and shields. Farkas leaned forward and watched intently as all the Companions did, even Tilma. Edric looked much smaller than Skjor, shorter and lighter, but it made him fast as hell. He probably would have been a bit slower if fighting with his preferred great-sword, but even then he would have been faster than Skjor. From what Farkas could tell it was equal parts youth, size and skill. Even with those advantages, Edric had to defend himself against Skjor’s four decades of experience and training, and to Farkas’ eyes the match was a fairly even one.

The fight wound on with neither warrior poised for a decisive win. Edric got in more hits but none would have been a death blow, and he took a few on the limbs and found himself on the defensive as often as he was on the offensive. Njada, Aela, Ria and Athis were on their feet halfway through, yelling encouragement to either side as the mood took them, while the twins and Kodlak watched intently. Farkas glanced at Torvar once and saw the man sober and withdrawn. It was fairly obvious that he was going to conveniently forget about his challenge to Edric after watching this. It was also a fairly good guess that he was going to keep his big mouth shut after this too.

The two warriors were clearly exhausted after nearly fifteen minutes of neither gaining an advantage, Skjor breathing heavily and probably very glad that they weren’t in heavy armor, Edric’s eyes intense as he looked for any opening at all to end this. Farkas felt his heart go into his throat as Edric suddenly slipped on a wet cobblestone, and Skjor quickly moved in. Then everyone gasped as Edric dove and rolled, coming up behind Skjor and hitting him across the back of his knees, making them buckle, then rolled to his feet and bashed the older warrior in the back of the head with his shield, causing him to stumble. He then shoved the sword into the other man’s ribs then brought his sword down across the back of Skjor’s neck, stopping short of the actual blow, one that would have resulted in decapitation in a real fight with edged weapons. It all happened so quickly that Farkas could barely follow it.

“I yield,” Skjor said breathlessly. “Shit.” He let his sword and shield fall to the ground and leaned over, panting, his hands on his knees. Edric blew out a long breath as he withdrew his sword and tucked it under his arm to rub his sleeve across his sweaty forehead. Skjor looked sideways at him and grinned. “You sneaky son of a bitch.”

“Not sure what you mean,” Edric replied, a grin of his own spreading over his face. He offered Skjor his hand and the other man readily took it, giving it a shake then pulling him into an embrace. They slapped each other on the back then let go, and Edric cast a spell of healing. The glow enveloped Skjor and he drew in a deep breath then nodded his thanks.

Farkas got up as most of the others rushed over to congratulate Edric on his narrow win and Skjor on his skill while Eorlund and his son whistled loudly and clapped in appreciation then went back to work. Edric was obviously still in some pain, and he shouldn’t have been. Farkas had seen people healed plenty of times, and the glow should have enveloped his entire body. Instead it had wrapped around Skjor but had done nothing at all for Edric.

He glanced over at Kodlak and the Harbinger, and Kodlak was frowning deeply, with obvious concern. Vilkas was also frowning, but as if he was puzzled. Edric stared at his hands as if they were someone else’s then let them fall and set his expression to one of deliberate unconcern. Aela put her hand on his shoulder and he gave her a twitch of a smile.

Skjor lightly hit Edric in the chest with the back of his hand and said, “I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink, whelp.”

“Yeah, me too,” Edric replied. “I’ll be there in a bit.”

The others headed inside, and Farkas went to Edric and patted him on the upper arm, Aela still standing there with her hand on him. “That was amazing,” he stated honestly. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a fight quite like it.” Edric nodded, looking troubled, and Aela was gazing at the young man with concern. Farkas lowered his voice and said to him, “You’re still hurt.” Edric didn’t deny it, his brow furrowed.

“Damn it, I knew it,” Aela muttered. She grabbed Edric by the shoulders and was about to speak when she made a sound of surprise and leaned close to him, giving him a sniff. “What…on _Nirn_ is that smell?” she breathed.

“Great,” Edric drawled. He gently brushed off her hands then backed up a few steps. He made a sound of pain and rotated his left shoulder then let his arm fall.

Farkas huffed in worry, about to ask what was wrong when he saw Edric go still, staring past him. He turned and saw Vilkas staring intently at Edric, like a predator. Kodlak gripped Vilkas’ arm and Vilkas ignored him, and it wasn’t until Tilma smacked Vilkas on top of the head that he finally tore his gaze away from Edric to help her get Kodlak inside. Farkas shook his head, having neither the patience nor the energy to care what his twin’s problem was this time.

He turned back to Edric and quietly asked him, “Isn’t your healing working?” Edric grimaced, hesitating, then he curtly shook his head. “Aw shit. Why? How’s that possible?” Edric swallowed, looking pale, his eyes haunted-looking, and Farkas moved closer to him and whispered, “Edric…this is bad.” It was beyond bad; it was terrifying.

“Very bad,” Aela agreed in a mutter. “If healing spells won’t work, potions might not either.” She asked Edric, “When was the last time healing worked for you? By yourself or someone else?”

Edric swallowed hard and mumbled, “The middle of Midyear. I haven’t been wounded since then.”

When he offered nothing else Aela prompted, “Well? Do you know why it isn’t working now?”

“Yes.” She motioned with her hand for him to spit it out, and he whispered, “You can’t tell Vilkas. Please. He might use it against me. Skjor’s okay, but…Kodlak would worry. I might not get any more jobs.”

“Vilkas won’t hear it from me,” Aela swore. “I very well could see that mad dog using against you. You do understand how vulnerable you are, right?”

“He isn’t a mad dog,” Farkas said in defense of his twin.

“Do you or don’t you think he might use this to his advantage?”

Farkas said in exasperation, “I think he already knows. He was watching Edric like a hawk. He could see as easy as any of us that it wasn’t working. Kodlak saw it too.” Edric made a sound of dismay, rubbing his shoulder, and Farkas moved next to him and began gently massaging the joint, feeling Edric tense then begin to relax under the touch. He felt good under Farkas’ hand, more muscular than he looked, body heat radiating from him like an oven from the exertion of the fight. He smelled so good with leather and sweat and spice that it was all Farkas could do to focus on what Aela was saying.

Aela raised her eyebrows at the two men then rolled her eyes, giving up. “Tell us why it isn’t working anymore,” she demanded. “Magical healing.”

Edric licked his lips, hesitating, and when Aela poked him in the ribs he made a sound of aggravation then stated, “I had to see a special healer. Back in Midyear. I…I took some really bad injuries last year. At the end of the war. Ones I couldn’t fix on my own. This healer, she spent days working on me, I don’t even remember how long it was, but it was…it was really fucking painful, but when she was done I was all better, except for a few patches on my face and the one on my nose. She said…she told me my body was rejecting her magic. That sometimes people who’ve been healed too much develop a resistance to it. She said…I was the worst mess she’d ever seen and she was amazed I was able to take as much as I did before it stopped working. I thought…I thought it was temporary. I mean, I’m a decent healer but I’m not a master. I’d never heard of such a thing.”

Farkas shivered fearfully, and Aela was staring at Edric with a look of horror on her face. “What in Oblivion happened to warrant all that?” she asked in disbelief.

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

Aela sputtered and shook her head, and she looked around then turned on her heel and walked over to the porch, where a few healing potions were always kept, in case a training session sent awry. She grabbed a minor one and took it over to Edric and shoved it into his hands. “Drink up.” He willingly did so, his hands trembling slightly, and when he downed the whole thing it had as much effect as a mug of ale. “Shit.”

Edric looked up at Farkas and whispered, “What am I going to do next year? I _have_ to go.”

“Go where?” Aela demanded. Edric wouldn’t answer her, still staring up at Farkas, and Farkas stared back with glistening eyes. Aela growled angrily and put her fingertips to her temples, closing her eyes. “One of you better start coming clean with me or I’m going to knock your goddamn heads together.” Edric blinked in shock as he looked at her.

“Uh, the war,” Farkas muttered. “He’s supposed to go to war next spring. With King Ulfric. Against the Aldmeri Dominion.” The thought had been bad before, but this...this made him want to cry. If Edric went to war he would die, and that was that. Farkas had taken wounds on the job many a time that could have killed him without healing potions handy, but war was so far beyond that it wasn't funny. Thousands and thousands of elves, months or years of war, and no way to heal? It was a death sentence.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” Aela exclaimed. The back door opened and Skjor was coming outside, two bottles of mead in his hands. She waved her hand at him insistently, and he rolled his eye and came over. When he was about ten feet away she said in a loud whisper, “The pup here can’t take magical healing anymore!” Edric made a scoffing sound of offense at the term and Skjor’s eyebrows rose as his expression turned to disbelief. “You didn’t notice that his healing didn’t take when he healed you? The glow didn’t extend to him. I just handed him a potion and it did nothing. He can’t go out on jobs with that kind of handicap! And now he’s talking about going off to war? He does that and he’s a dead man!”

Edric stated, “My staying behind isn’t an option, Aela. It’s non-negotiable.”

“Look, we’re all very impressed with your skill, whelp, and I’m not being sarcastic about it either. But you’re just one man, and if you go to war against elves and can’t heal yourself you’re going to _die._ If you can’t see that you’re about as sharp as ice brain here.” Edric’s lips pursed as he stared at her and Farkas grumbled.

“I have other skills. Ones that kept me from taking a single scratch through most of the civil war and the entire Battle of Solitude.”

“Yeah? Well I haven’t seen them.”

Skjor stepped in, saying to Aela, “If Edric says he can protect himself then he can. I know the skills he speaks of, and so does Kodlak. He chooses not to use those skills out of deference to our traditions here.”

The corner of Aela’s lip curled. “Oh, I see. So he’s a mage? That would’ve been nice to know!”

Edric sighed tiredly and grabbed the full bottle of mead from Skjor. “I’m not a _mage_ mage,” Edric stated.

“Have you studied at the College of Winterhold?” Edric refused to answer, taking a long drink from the bottle. Aela huffed in exasperation and looked up at Farkas, who glared back defensively.

“It doesn’t matter if he knows magic,” Farkas stated.

Edric added, “Besides, I find your concerns ironic considering what you guys are. At least my existence isn’t an executable offense.” Aela folded her arms and narrowed her eyes at him while Skjor snorted and took a drink of his own. “I promised the old man when I came here that I wouldn’t use any school of magic other than Restoration while I was here or operating as a Companion, unless I felt it truly necessary. I promised Farkas pretty much the same last night. But that was before finding this out. If I have to choose between using magic or ending up crippled…well, what would you choose?”

Aela stared at him with pursed lips, seeming to think it over, then she reluctantly said, “Hm, all right then. But you’d better be damn desperate.” She smirked at the young man and asked, “So, just what were you doing last night with Farkas?”

“I guarded him while he hunted out on the plains. I kept my eyes closed going through the Underforge, going and coming, on my honor. I kept watch while he changed and did his thing, in case the Silver Hand was around again.”

Aela and Skjor glanced at each other, then the older warrior asked, “And what did you think, lad?”

Edric shrugged. “Interesting. Not particularly scary after the things I’ve seen, but interesting.” He smiled and gently elbowed Farkas in the ribs. “Seemed like the big guy was having fun though, eh?”

Farkas laughed, blushing slightly, and when he glanced at Aela and Skjor they were giving each other another weird look, but at least they couldn’t see Farkas’ embarrassment. A good kind of embarrassment. Edric’s smile faded as his brow furrowed in pain again, and Farkas murmured to him in concern, “Is it your shoulder?”

“I took a whack to it. Just bruises here and there everywhere else, but it ah, aches sometimes. My left side.” Skjor’s gaze turned subdued, and Edric met it for a moment then sighed and looked up at Farkas again. “I’m going to go in and sit by the fire for a while. I’m heading out with the most charming soul in Tamriel in the morning, so better to rest up now.”

Aela smirked and said, “You could always lay him out again if he gets mouthy.”

“Yeah, well, knowing what I do now, I’m gonna need to have an extremely good reason for it. My hand still hurts. I’m lucky I didn’t break it on that iron jaw of his.”

Farkas frowned and suggested, “Maybe you should wait a few days, until you feel better.” He hated the idea of Edric heading out on a job still sore from a fight. Even the Companions didn’t leave Whiterun compromised. And while it hurt to think it, Farkas didn’t totally trust his brother anymore. Especially when it came to Edric. Vilkas wouldn’t let him die, but he might end up waiting just a bit too long to step in, and Edric could get wounded to the point of being disabled, now that they knew that not even potions worked on him.

Edric waved him off. “Nah. I’ve fought through a hell of a lot worse than this.”

Skjor counseled a grave tone, “You had better be damn careful from here on out, lad. This changes things.”

Aela added, “You need to tell Vilkas up front that you’re vulnerable. He’ll back you up so you can avoid using magic.”

Edric gazed at her for a moment then said in an intense voice, “When I made my promise to Kodlak about not using magic I didn’t know I could no longer heal. I’ll do everything in my power to honor the Companions and their traditions, but I’ll be damned if I end up…” He curtly shook his head. “If Vilkas judges me because I have to use magic to save my hide, so be it. The Companions need me a hell of a lot more than I need them.”

Aela sputtered in disbelief as she watched Edric walk away, and she didn’t bother waiting until he was out of earshot to exclaim, “Well he thinks he’s special, doesn’t he!”

“Because he is,” Farkas stated with utter conviction, watching his beloved go inside Jorrvaskr. Edric was the most special person in the world. After watching him fight Skjor, Farkas knew that more than ever. No one had beat Skjor in a fight in more years than anyone could remember.

“Yes, we all know how special _you_ think—”

“Kodlak gave us his blessing,” he said in aggravation.

“He what?!” Aela and Skjor both said in shock.

Farkas ignored his embarrassment and stated firmly, “He said I should stop letting Vilkas boss me around and make my decisions for me. He told me I should be myself, who I want to be, not what Vilkas wants me to be. I told him I…” He took a deep breath. “I’m in love with Edric, and Kodlak gave me his blessing to court him.”

Aela stared open-mouthed at her pack brother, and Skjor whispered faintly, “I’ll be damned.”

“When I was hunting I killed a rabbit for him as a gift and he liked it and kept it,” Farkas said in a proud tone. Skjor rubbed his forehead and sighed while Aela kept staring, speechless. “I told him I wanted to court him and wanted him to give me the chance to make things better for him, and he said he would think about it until the 13th of Frostfall.” Skjor’s hand slowly came down, and Farkas’ tone turned slightly pleading as he quietly said, “He told me some awful things. Edric, I mean. Last night. He said he hadn’t planned to come back from the war. He misses his man so much that he planned to finish the war then let the elves send him to Sovngarde. I can’t let that happen. I have to give him a reason to come back. A reason to live.”

The Huntress looked troubled, her mouth closing. “He had someone?” she asked.

“He said they were together for three years. The guy, I don’t know his name, he died in the Battle of Solitude.”

“That’s too bad,” she said sincerely. “However you know the Circle’s stance on relationships within the guild. And if you were paying attention when we all met the other night you know that Edric could end up being a candidate for the Circle if he passes his Trial.” She snorted and added, “As if there’s any doubt of that. After what I saw a bit ago? The only reason he won’t pass his Trial is if Vilkas really is beyond redemption.”

“Aela,” Farkas growled in warning.

“You didn’t see what I did in the yard this morning. Vilkas wouldn’t listen. Edric didn’t want to fight him, tried to reason with him, and Vilkas went after him like a rabid dog. And the whelp still had the grace to heal the bastard after he dropped him. I would’ve left him on his knees with his ears ringing.” She poked Farkas’ chest and said, “I warned your brother that he is going to end up in a cage if he doesn’t start doing a better job of reining himself in. He got my point. But if he loses it while he’s with Edric on his Trial, well, maybe we should put a cage in the Underforge, just in case.”

Skjor shook his head and said, “I don’t think that’s necessary just yet.”

“It isn’t at all,” Farkas said with anxiety. “Vilkas isn’t that far gone.”

“He attacked Edric for no reason!” Aela stated. “He scared the shit out of poor little Ria. She won’t even look at Vilkas now. If Edric hadn’t calmed her down after Vilkas went inside the entire morning’s training would have been ruined.” She folded her arms and said to Skjor, “The whelp is a good trainer. Patient, and his skill goes without saying. Vilkas used to be a good trainer, but if he can’t be salvaged then someone needs to take his place. We’ll already need someone to take Kodlak’s place in the Circle when he goes.”

“Yes, I know that,” Skjor said, “and I agree that it should be Edric, but—”

“But ice brain here needs to drop his fantasies of marrying the whelp first. Members of the Circle do not marry or mate permanently to each other, and if the whelp takes the blood they’ll end up bonding.”

Farkas protested, “Kodlak said that members of the Circle have married before. He said it wasn’t ideal but he said I should follow my heart and take care of Edric. He gave me his blessing, Aela!”

“Maybe the old man is getting addled.” Farkas growled while Skjor grunted and shook his head, and she waved her hand at the big man. “Look at you! You hardly know him and you’ve lost all common sense. I understand that he’s handsome. I’m not blind. And I understand now why you were sniffing his bedroll. I don’t know what that smell is but it’s…intoxicating. That’s why you need to stay away from him.”

“No, I won’t stay away,” he said in refusal. “He’s the one I want and that’s the end of it.” Aela fumed. “The reason we aren’t supposed to bond with each other is to avoid jealousy. Edric and me are the only ones that go that way, so what does it matter if we mate?” He looked at Skjor. “What does it matter?” Skjor’s lips pursed thoughtfully, and Farkas went on, “Kodlak knows that Edric needs me, and Edric knows it too. Edric telling me last night that he was going to let the elves kill him was his way of asking for help. He told me to give him a reason not to. And don’t you two dare tell anyone.”

Aela’s irritation subsided as she looked thoughtful, and Skjor promised, “Aela and I will keep it to ourselves, brother. You have our word.”

“Aye,” Aela agreed with reluctance. She folded her arms and tapped her chin with one finger thoughtfully. “So he wasn’t afraid at all, last night? Not even when you changed?”

“Not at all,” Farkas said with a shrug. “He even petted me, right after. I uh, got kind of, um, grabby with him, when I brought him the rabbit, but he wasn’t afraid. He told me to let him know when I want to go out again and he’ll go with me.” Farkas just hoped that next time he would be able to control himself a little better, while knowing he wouldn’t. He got one whiff of Edric and lost what little sense he had in that form. “He seemed really interested in what it was like, being a werewolf. Asked me all kinds of questions on the way back. How it felt, how we think when we’re like that. State of mind, that’s what he said. He wanted to know how we think and feel when we’re changed.”

Aela and Skjor looked at each other for a moment, then the Huntress asked Farkas, “Do you think he would take the blood, if he joined the Circle?”

“Maybe.” While he knew his twin would be furious about it, Farkas couldn’t help guiltily hoping Edric did. Then he and Farkas could bond to each other and never chance losing each other. Edric would be his forever and no one would ever come between them. Even Vilkas wouldn’t be able to then. Mating bonds between werewolves were forever and only death could sever them, at least until they met again in the Hunting Grounds. It was why they were always so careful in forming them, or not. Edric though, he was the only one Farkas wanted, forever.

Skjor said, “You realize, don’t you, that was probably why he was asking? I want Edric to become our brother in blood more than I’ve wanted anything in more years than I can measure, but would he be doing it for the right reasons?”

“What does it matter?”Aela countered. “The pack needs another strong hunter. Edric is small but fierce. If he thinks taking the blood would give him an escape and lessen his grief, how is that wrong? There are worse reasons, Skjor.” Skjor nodded, conceding that. Aela smirked up at Farkas and said, “Who knows, if he joins the pack before spring it might add some spice to our little yearly romp.”

Farkas’ eyes went wide as he contemplated the possibilities there, then he felt his face flushing as he muttered, “I’ve gotta go.” He heard Aela snicker and Skjor chuckle as he turned away. He heard them murmuring quietly to each other, lower than he could pick up. Well they could keep their secrets, even if they were talking about Edric the way he knew they were. Farkas halfway hoped that he and Edric could find some way of just not being around when Aela's season came next spring. The thought of sharing his beloved wasn't an entirely pleasant one, though instinct would override a lot of things, and it was just one night. Farkas had to wonder though if it would even have any effect on either him or Edric if they were bonded by then, or if it would have any effect on Edric at all with his total lack of interest in females. Kodlak wouldn't last more than another two months, and Edric might join the Circle by time the new year rolled around.

He went inside Jorrvaskr and at first didn’t see Edric anywhere, but when he heard animated talk on the other side of the fire pit he went to the table and looked over it. Ria and Athis were sitting on the floor on either side of Edric, Njada on Athis’ other side. Edric was talking about the month he’d spent living in Dushnikh Yal as Blood-Kin to the orcs, and the three junior members were riveted to his tale, even Njada, sitting cross-legged with her chin in her palm. Edric was sitting with his left side to the fire, rubbing his shoulder, which Farkas couldn’t help worrying about. Edric was left-handed, and if his left shoulder and hand were bothering him it could cause problems. Ria was sitting close to him, nearly touching, and the sight was sweet. The little Nibenese girl clearly trusted Edric after this morning, which was good. She was also well aware of Edric’s orientation, or so Farkas thought. Well after the 13th of Frostfall there would be no doubt in anyone’s mind about it.

Edric looked up at Farkas then smiled slightly, and Farkas sighed and smiled back, feeling his heart clench at how striking his beloved’s face looked in the firelight. It hardly seemed real that someone so perfect might be his someday soon. Surely Edric would be. He wouldn’t smile at Farkas like that if he didn’t want to be.

Ria’s smothered giggle broke Farkas out of his reverie, and Edric dropped his eyes with a soft laugh and gave her a gentle nudge with his elbow. Farkas huffed in embarrassment and walked away, heading downstairs to see if Vilkas and Tilma needed help with Kodlak.

He found the two tucking the Harbinger back into bed, just finishing, Kodlak coughing and Vilkas muttering that he shouldn’t have gone outside. Kodlak looked up at Farkas and the big man gave him a brief smile, then Vilkas looked over his shoulder at his twin and glared at him.

“This was a terrible idea,” Vilkas said in a tense voice.

“Why? It’s what Kodlak wanted,” Farkas replied with a shrug.

“It made his cough worse.”

Tilma clucked her tongue and said, “Now boys, no bickering. He’s still our Harbinger, and it was a good fight.”

Kodlak wheezed, “That it was. Ah, I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.” He coughed into the blood-splattered kerchief then whispered, “I’ve never seen two warriors so evenly matched. It reminds me yet again that Skjor is the best of us.” He pulled the covers up to his chin, clutching the red-stained cloth in his hand. “How are Edric’s injuries?” Farkas’ eyes slid over to Vilkas, who had a suddenly intense look in his own eyes as he stared at his twin. Kodlak muttered with deep worry, “His healing isn’t working is it? Not on himself.” Farkas hesitated, staring at his twin for a moment longer, then he pulled his gaze away and curtly shook his head.

“Oh dear,” Tilma murmured. “I should go take a look. See if he needs a poultice.”

“Thank you, Tilma,” Kodlak whispered. The older woman hurried out of the room. He demanded of Farkas, “Tell me.” Farkas glanced at Vilkas again, and the Harbinger said to Vilkas, “Would you give us a moment?”

“Why?” Vilkas asked, nearly spitting the word out. Kodlak’s eyes narrowed, and Vilkas asked him, “Why can he not be discussed in front of me? Am I not to be trusted? I’m supposed to guard his back tomorrow, but I can’t hear what you have to say about him? If he can’t heal himself don’t you think I should know that?”

Farkas growled, “Don’t talk to the Harbinger in that tone. _Never_ talk to him that way.”

“I’m sick of the secrets! Who the hell is Edric that he should even have any?”

“What does it matter? This is how he wants it. It’s how Kodlak wants it. You don’t see me pissing and moaning over it, and if you say it’s ‘cause I’m too stupid to wonder I’m going to put you into the fucking wall.”

“Stop it,” Kodlak demanded. “Both of you.”

Vilkas protested, “Why should I? Will you have Aela put me in a cage as she threatened to do?” The moment the words were out of his mouth Vilkas blinked and took in a shaky breath, and Farkas bit his lip, seeing Kodlak’s eyes widen as his nostrils flared furiously.

“Maybe I should,” Kodlak muttered ominously. Vilkas shivered and lowered his eyes. Kodlak turned to Farkas and said, “Out with it.”

Farkas said in a nervous tone, “Uh, Edric said it’s because of all the healing he had this summer. The healer he saw told him he’d taken so much that his body won’t respond to it anymore, but, I don't know, I don't think he believed her until today. Aela gave him a healing potion to try and it didn’t do anything.” Kodlak’s eyes closed as he seemed to sink in on himself, and the reaction was so worrisome that it sent a thrill of anxiety through Farkas.

“What’s wrong with him?” Vilkas asked. “Why did he need that much healing? I have never heard of such a thing, someone being unable to be healed.”

Kodlak opened his eyes and stated, “That is Edric’s business. Who and what Edric is has nothing to do with you, Vilkas.”

“I would say it does if I have to back him up tomorrow with no way of healing him if things go wrong! Even we rely on potions!”

“After what you saw just now, are you truly worried that a few draugr are going to be able to touch him?”

“There are worse things than draugr about. I do not trust this supposed scholar that came to Skjor. Why would a fragment of Wuuthrad show up now, so close to Whiterun? It smells like a trap.”

“So it may be,” Kodlak agreed with a weak shrug of one shoulder. “Go into the Cairn with the mindset that it is and you will be fine.”

“Of course I will be, because _Edric_ will be with me.”

The snide remark made Farkas grit his teeth to not bark at his brother, and when his twin stormed out of the room Farkas kept silent. It seemed all Vilkas did was storm everywhere anymore. Vilkas _was_ a storm. It made Farkas’ anger with his brother subside, replaced with sympathy. It would all be so much easier if Vilkas would just change once in a while, to let off some pressure. Farkas had started getting irritable after just two weeks, and he was fairly easy going. No way in hell he was going to go six months to a year at a time like Vilkas. Especially not now that he had Edric. Or nearly so.

Kodlak quietly asked, “How was your hunt last night?”

“Uh…okay,” he answered apprehensively.

“Skjor told me you two were going out.” Farkas sighed and nodded. “How did Edric take it?”

Farkas shrugged. “Fine. Not much scares him.”

“True, very little does.”

“I uh, talked to him. After I was done hunting. I…um, hunted him a rabbit. He liked it.”

“Ah,” Kodlak said with a chuckle.

“He wanted to know what the rabbit meant. He started pushing me and saying some things…” He wasn’t about to say what either and upset the old man. “I decided to be honest and tell him I wanted to court him and that you said it was okay. I think it surprised him a little. Eh, a lot actually. He asked if he could think about it until after the 13th and I said yes.” He took a deep breath then went on, “I think he’ll let me. Since last night he’s acted like he’ll let me. But…I’m worried. I’m really worried about him, and…he seemed worried, after sparring with Skjor. Skjor and Aela are really worried for him too.”

“We all are. Even Vilkas is, in a way.”

“Okay.” He couldn’t help his tone showing just how little he believed that.

“Hm. Well, Vilkas is worried about the ramifications of it.” Farkas stared blankly at him. “The consequences. He doesn’t want Edric badly wounded on his watch. Vilkas is an excellent field medic but they’ll be a day away from Whiterun if things go sour. I agree with Vilkas that this could be a trap. Skjor did mention that it seemed much too convenient, but between the two of them Vilkas and Edric will get things sorted out. Your brother and Edric are both very intelligent, competent men.”

“Is Edric as smart as Vilkas?”

Kodlak made a thoughtful sound. “For the most part. I would say Vilkas has the greater intellect, however Edric has a hell of a lot more sense, and a broader range of knowledge and experience.” He sighed with regret. “I had hoped the two could become friends, but that’s impossible for now. Once Vilkas is cured…perhaps.” Farkas grunted with extreme skepticism. “I don’t blame you for not wanting to abstain from the hunt, son. You see your brother suffering, and you have someone to watch over you now, in Edric.” He coughed into the kerchief, with deep, wracking coughs that left him spent when it was over. Farkas moved to the side of the bed, a look of anguish on his face, and Kodlak whispered weakly, “Will you take the cure? When it is found?”

Farkas nibbled at his bottom lip then whispered, “I don’t know.” He didn’t have the heart to tell Kodlak that he hoped Edric took the blood so they could mate permanently. If they both had the beastblood then there was no way in hell Farkas was taking the cure, whatever it ended up being. Not unless Edric took it too.

“I think I have found the journals I was looking for. Perhaps…” He coughed shortly then cleared his throat. “Perhaps I will seek Vilkas’ advice on the matter, when he returns from Edric’s Trial. Perhaps… it will give him some hope.”

“Maybe.” Vilkas could sure use it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of 'maxing out' on magical healing isn't my headcanon, per se, however as I may have mentioned in a previous note it's an idea that's been rolling around in my head for the last year and a half, so the notion is being explored in this story. Imagine playing the game without being able to drink a healing potion or cast healing spells, even at higher levels, and you can start to imagine what a serious handicap it could be.


	12. Chapter 12

** Vilkas – 30th of Heartfire, 4E205 **

Vilkas nodded curtly to the guards as he and Edric passed through the city gates. The whelp had been up by time Vilkas awakened, already packed and armored for the road and eating breakfast. Tilma was fussing over him, clearly worried that he couldn’t heal, because Vilkas couldn’t imagine why else she would be. Surprisingly enough, Farkas hadn’t been there to see Edric off, though maybe he had said his goodbyes already and was out in the yard. Vilkas had eaten a light breakfast then he had jerked his head towards the doors, and Edric had followed without a word. In fact he hadn’t said a word to Vilkas the entire way through town.

Edric continued his silence all the way to the stables, where the Companions kept a handful of horses. Vilkas finally asked him, “Do you have a horse of your own?”

“Aye, but not here.”

Vilkas frowned. “How did you get here then?” Edric stared at him for a moment like he was brain damaged then slowly raised his arm and pointed behind Vilkas. He looked over his shoulder and saw Bjorlam there with his wagon, reading a book. He made a sound of annoyance and said, “No no, how do you get around?”

“Am I not allowed to use the Companions’ horses yet?”

“Well, yes, but—” Edric walked away toward Skulvar, and Vilkas grit his teeth and followed. It was as if the man couldn’t give a straight answer to even the simplest of questions. Edric always seemed to avoid the question, either through redirection or refusal to answer. Well Vilkas wasn’t dense like his brother. He was going to get to the root of who Edric was on this trip. Eventually the whelp would slip up. Vilkas didn’t care if Kodlak and Skjor knew exactly who and what Edric was.

That was something that had weighed on Vilkas’ mind since the previous night: Kodlak’s comment of _Who and what Edric is has nothing to do with you, Vilkas._ Not just who Edric was, but _what_ he was. And then there was Farkas’ comment about all the healing Edric had received earlier this summer. Vilkas had never in his life heard of anyone who had needed so much healing that Restoration magic no longer worked for them. He wished he’d thought to discuss it with Danica, but doing so just now occurred to him.

Then there had been the way Edric had made a sound of pain and rotated his shoulder then let his arm fall, exactly the way the Dragonborn had after the battle with the dragon outside Rorikstead back in the spring. And Edric had then gone still and looked over at Vilkas, as if thinking the same thing. Edric had bested Skjor, which no one had done in Vilkas’ memory, but it was more than that; Vilkas had watched the bout very carefully and noted that Edric had been slightly…twitchy, as if resisting the urge to use magic. Pressing his lips together, as if resisting the urge to use the thu’um. Edric was also much, much stronger than a man his size should be, as Vilkas’ jaw and gut could attest to yesterday.

 _He is a force of nature, the very breath of Kyne,_ Ulfric had said. _Like the breath of Kyne herself,_ Farkas had said. Edric worshipped Kynareth; the Greybeards worshipped Kynareth. _I was beautiful!_ the Dragonborn had cried, and like it or not Vilkas couldn’t deny that Edric was. The Dragonborn loved men; so did Edric. The Dragonborn had lost his husband in the Battle of Solitude; Edric had lost his man in the same battle. Both the Dragonborn and Edric had served for a number of years in the Legion before joining Ulfric’s cause. Both the Dragonborn and Edric had been to Solstheim. Kodlak and Skjor both knew all about Edric and his past; both old men had gone to Ivarstead and talked to the Dragonborn on his way back to High Hrothgar. Kodlak had spent massive amounts of time alone with Edric after he came to Jorrvaskr, and Skjor seemed highly invested in Edric’s success with the Companions. Kodlak had known Edric on sight, Vilkas was sure of it, the day the young man had joined. And he had told Edric to come straight back to him after his test, as if there were no doubt at all that Edric would pass.

As he and Edric mounted their horses and started the ride to Dustman’s Cairn, Vilkas felt a sudden stab of certainty that Edric was the Dragonborn. He had to be. There were too many parallels, too much effort being put into hiding Edric’s true identity and full past. Kodlak and Skjor were too invested in Edric’s future with the Companions. Somehow this ‘healer’ Edric had seen this summer had mended most of his old injuries, though how was something that nearly made Vilkas reconsider. The Dragonborn had been missing an eye and had no hair at all, not even eyelashes. Vilkas could see how some of the other scars could be fixed, but the eye, the hair? It still seemed impossible, and yet it seemed nearly impossible that Edric _wasn’t_ the Dragonborn.

Vilkas kept his thoughts to himself as they rode west, and Edric was silent as well, not even glancing Vilkas’ direction as they rode. A soft rain started to fall after a couple hours and they pulled up the hoods of their cloaks, just as the Western Watchtower started coming into sight through the gray drizzle. He watched Edric out of the corner of his eye as they drew closer, seeing the younger man do nothing more than give it a bored glance.

The guards there hailed Vilkas as a Companion, and as they passed the tower Vilkas carefully said, “You know, the Dragonborn fought his first dragon here.”

“Huh,” Edric said with just the right level of polite interest. “That must’ve been something. Where are the bones?”

“The surviving guards split up the remains as trophies. Irileth took the skull.”

“Well good for them.”

Vilkas pursed his lips, his eyes narrowed. “Amazing how someone can be named a Thane for simply being in the right place at the right time,” he stated. “Some say he didn’t even strike the killing blow.”

“Why would he need to?”

“Because he’s supposed to be the all-powerful dragon slayer. Isn’t he?”

“Who ever said he was all-powerful?” Edric shrugged. “Anyone can kill a dragon. The Dragonborn is supposed to devour the soul, to keep the dragon from ever being raised again.”

 _Devour the soul._ Vilkas couldn’t help shivering a bit at that. “How would that happen regardless, if he destroyed Alduin, who was raising the dragons?”

Edric shrugged again. “You’re asking the wrong guy, Vilkas.”

 _Am I?_ he nearly retorted. Gods it was tempting to simply ask Edric, but the whelp was much too good an actor. Vilkas could imagine how Edric would lightly laugh off the suggestion, with some flippant comment, trying to make it seem like Vilkas was imagining things.

“Farkas told me you fought a dragon once,” Edric went on. “That must’ve been exciting.”

Vilkas felt his upper lip twitch in a sneer at the tiniest hint of condescension in Edric’s voice. Maybe he was imagining it, but he didn’t think he was. “Exciting is not the term I would use,” he stated in a curt tone. “The creature was as big as a house. I was lucky it was using frost breath or I may have died. If the Dragonborn hadn’t come along I very well might have.”

“Eh, I doubt that. I’ve heard you’re pretty good. As good as Skjor in some ways.” Vilkas wasn’t sure how to take that and so stayed silent. Edric smiled at him and added, “Maybe we could go up against each other some day, just for kicks.” He snorted a laugh. “And without an audience.”

Vilkas grunted, not giving him a yea or nay, and Edric left it alone, going silent. Vilkas had been eager for a match before yesterday, but after the whelp had laid him out that morning then made a show of his skill in front of the entire group of Companions Vilkas was no longer sure he could best him. Vilkas was as good as Skjor, when it came to pure technical skill, but the wily old warrior always seemed to anticipate every move his opponent made. It seemed he should have anticipated Edric’s fake slip on the cobblestones, but it had been too real. Even Vilkas had fallen for it. Yes, Edric was very good at pretending. He was almost as good as Farkas, who had spent the last decade hiding what he was from his own twin and tricking Vilkas into thinking the future they’d planned out stood a chance of happening.

A swell of rage and betrayal went through him, and when he saw Edric reach back into a saddlebag for a bottle of mead he snapped, “A little early for that, don’t you think?”

“Nah. This is actually my second of the day.”

Vilkas stared at him, appalled by the admission. He watched Edric guzzle down a third of the bottle in a few seconds, a prodigious feat for a man his size. It startled him out of his anger, and he asked, “And Kodlak has no issue with your drinking?”

Edric swallowed and wiped his mouth with his thumb, shrugging. “He doesn’t like it,” he admitted.

“Then quit.”

“Don’t want to,” he said with another shrug. “Besides, if I quit cold I’ll get sick. I tried it once. No thank you.” He put the bottle back in the saddlebag. “My drinking will have no impact on the job, or the Companions. It will sure as hell have less impact than Torvar’s.” Vilkas grunted again, unable to deny that.

An hour and a half later they passed Fort Greymoor, the blue-clad soldiers there busy repairing the walls. Vilkas noted that Edric seemed somewhat surprised at that. Vilkas was as well, but it was good to see. Better to have the place occupied by Stormcloaks who were actually making themselves useful than an endless succession of bandits. The forts in Skyrim, and probably most of the Empire, were in serious disrepair, dating back to the days of Tiber Septim, and in some cases even older. If war with the elves was just around the corner as many said then it behooved King Ulfric to see to Skyrim’s defenses. If nothing else, Ulfric knew war.

They stopped briefly on the other side of a small bridge spanning a creek, to let the horses graze and drink while the two men ate a light lunch. Vilkas let Edric lead, hard as it was, and had to admit that the whelp’s silence was surprising. Edric had promised he would be professional on the job, but Vilkas had been sure the younger man wouldn’t be able to contain himself. In fact Edric was _too_ quiet and the silence was starting to get on Vilkas’ nerves.

He watched Edric drink the remaining mead while they ate, making him clench his teeth to resist calling him a pathetic alcoholic. Vilkas simply couldn’t understand how anyone could let themselves slide into such a state. Vilkas liked his drink as much as any Nord, but becoming reliant on it to function? It was unthinkable. He supposed he was now reliant on the damn Ring of Hircine to function, but that wasn’t the same thing at all. Vilkas was cursed; drinking was voluntary.

After they finished eating Edric knelt down by the stream to wash his hands and face, and Vilkas nearly sneered at him for being so fastidious, clearly remembering the day Edric had joined and jabbed at him for being filthy. Vilkas enjoyed being clean just fine while at home or in a city, but on the road it was a waste of time to fuss over it. Edric pulled the hood of his cloak back up as it began to rain in earnest, and as he stood Vilkas heard the rumble of thunder, a common occurrence on the plains. Edric met his eyes as the thunder boomed again, and Vilkas felt his skin crawl at the hint of knowledge there, the hint of threat. It was as if Edric knew what he was thinking. Knew that Vilkas suspected who he was. Knew that staring at Vilkas while the thunder rolled would only reinforce the Companion’s thoughts.

Edric smiled at him, the look in his eyes softening, eyes that were green as emeralds under impossibly thick lashes. Vilkas stared at him and simply couldn’t figure out how the mysterious healer had managed to fix the horrible injuries he remembered. If Edric truly was the Dragonborn and had always been this handsome, Vilkas couldn’t begin to guess how it must have felt for him to see the ruin of his face after Sovngarde, couldn’t imagine how it had felt to go from being beautiful and married and one of the most powerful men in Tamriel to being a burnt, crippled widower. To have it all and then lose it.

Edric blinked, startling Vilkas out of his thoughts, and he whispered harshly, “What are you looking at?”

The young man laughed quietly and turned away, saying, “My answer is the same as the last time you asked me.” Vilkas growled angrily. “And for a moment you looked just like Farkas.”

“We are twins. Of course we look alike.” He knew that wasn’t at all what Edric had meant, but that was all he was going to give the whelp. Twins were rare, and identical twins rarer, so Vilkas and Farkas had often gotten comments about how alike they looked, though that had grown less as time went on.

Edric mounted his horse, asking, “Did you two ever try to trick people when you were kids? Pretend you were each other?”

Vilkas didn’t answer at first, startled by the question. “Well…yes.” He mounted his own horse and they began to ride. It was a surprising question, and one that brought back pleasant memories. “Until Tilma started cutting our hair differently, when we were seven or eight,” he continued, unsure of why he was even bothering. He supposed it was better than complete silence. He and Farkas had often tried to fool people in town, and it had often worked as long as Farkas kept his mouth shut; it was easier for Vilkas to play dumb than for Farkas to pretend he was smart. And then they’d hit puberty and Farkas had started turning into a big ox and his voice had gotten deeper than Vilkas’. They were nearly the same height but Farkas outweighed him by good twenty or thirty pounds of pure muscle. There was no confusing the two of them now.

“That must have been fun. Having a brother.”

“At times. You have no siblings?”

“No. Probably for the best. I just would’ve ended up taking care of them, most likely. I half raised myself, so…yeah.”

“You have no parents?”

“My mother is still alive. I have someone taking care of her and go visit her every couple of months. I never knew my father growing up. I still can’t get a completely straight answer out of Mum about him.” He smirked briefly at Vilkas. “She’s always been a bit soft in the head. Harmless, really, and she was always sweet to me, but she was too busy trying to keep us both fed to pay attention to the finer points of parenting. So I decided to raise myself. Found sympathetic adults and older kids to teach me to read, do math, how to fight. I’ve always been littler than all the other Nord kids so I had to learn fast.”

Unwillingly interested, Vilkas asked, “Why is that? Why are you so small for a Nord?” Just as the Dragonborn was.

“Mum is small for a Nord too. She’s half Breton, on her dad’s side. I…actually didn’t know that until recently. I’m not sure how that carried through to me, since that isn’t supposed to happen, but…eh, just makes me cuter, huh?” he said with a grin and a wink. Vilkas sputtered, shaking his head. “Mum is still pretty, but she was a real beauty when she was younger. Not that she’s old. She’s only a few years older than you and Farkas.”

“You’re joking.”

“She’s forty-six. She had me as a teenager. She was barely legal when my father bedded her.” Vilkas wrinkled his nose in distaste. “I’m a bastard, actually.”

Vilkas made a scoffing sound, the bald statement nearly making him laugh, a sensation he hadn’t felt in much too long. “I could have told you that,” he found himself saying. Edric laughed, a full-throated sound that made Vilkas snort, unable to help it. Edric said nothing more, seeming content to leave things on a pleasant note. And it suddenly was pleasant now, and Vilkas couldn’t figure out why it had happened. How it had happened.

The two men stayed wrapped in their own thoughts for the next few hours until they were nearing Redoran’s Retreat, and Vilkas sighed as he saw the expected bandits come out of hiding and fan out across the road. He pulled his cloak around him, covering his armor as best he could, curious as to how Edric would handle this. The whelp pulled his horse to a stop, holding up his hands, and Vilkas snorted to himself and did the same. He counted five spread across the road and another four hanging back near the outcropping that hid the cavern, armed with bows. Archers were always a problem, but the number of opponents was manageable.

“You there,” the leader, a big Redguard, called out. “This is a toll road. So pay your toll.”

“Oh my,” Edric said in dismay. He looked at Vilkas with huge eyes. “Bandits,” he breathed fearfully.

Vilkas resisted the urge to smirk and muttered, “So it would seem.” By Ysmir the whelp was ridiculous, and yet Vilkas couldn’t help finding it somewhat entertaining. Edric’s eyes flicked towards the rock and Vilkas lifted his chin in agreement.

Edric slid off his horse and Vilkas followed a moment later as the bandits cautiously approached. Edric said in a shaking voice, “I have a magic sword, do you want that? I can give you that.”

The Redguard laughed in contempt and answered, “Sure, that’ll be good for starters.” Edric nodded and reached back and pulled out his sword. When Vilkas did the same the bandits’ eyes widened at the sight of his armor and the Redguard shouted, “Companions!”

Vilkas roared and went straight for the leader while as the faster one Edric ran towards the archers. Vilkas didn’t spare him even a glance, confident that Edric could handle himself. If he had been out here with any of the other whelps it would have been dicey. He focused on the five outlaws who quickly surrounded him, the leader especially, whose eyes were wide with fear as he realized just what he had gotten himself into. Vilkas cut him down first as he heard satisfying screams from the archers, not sparing much thought for why all four were screaming at the same time.

He was on the third of his five opponents when the fourth fell with an arrow in her neck, then the fifth. He lopped off the head of the startled bandit in front of him then glanced over to the rock outcropping to see Edric tossing aside a shoddy hunter’s bow, the whelp uninjured. Vilkas bent down to rifle through the bandits’ belongings, finding a bit less than fifty septims and an enchanted Elven dagger that looked like it was worth something. The rest was junk, as was usually the case with these lowlives.

Edric came over to help him drag the bodies off the road, and once they were done the young man said, “I’m going to check out their cave real quick. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“What for?” Vilkas asked in annoyance. “It is a waste of time.” He narrowed his eyes and added, “Unless you’re looking to raid their stash of drink.”

Edric said in an overly patient tone, “Because sometimes they keep prisoners there. Playthings. I won’t be able to sleep tonight if I don’t check.”

“Fine, fine,” Vilkas muttered, unable to argue with that reasoning. “I will look after the horses.” Edric nodded and took off at a sprint to the backside of the hill. Vilkas approached their mounts, clucking his tongue reassuringly, seeing they were slightly spooked. Their horses were trained to be calm in such situations, but even so they could get riled at times. He led them over to the grass and let them graze then went to check the archers that Edric had taken down. He frowned, seeing burn marks on their armor and smelling ozone, though they also had obvious wounds from a great-sword. The simultaneous screams suddenly came back to him, and he hissed furiously, “Magic!” Edric had used magic on the bandits, probably lightning magic from the smell of it. Vilkas hadn’t heard the spell being cast, but experienced mages could cast silently.

He growled and stalked off after the whelp, pulling the horses along with him towards the entrance, then he shoved open the doors and went inside, familiar with the layout of the place from all the times he had been tasked with emptying it out. He found a couple more fresh bodies, though these bore no sign of magic use upon them. He stalked through the small caverns, finding Edric coming back from the end chamber eating an apple. He tossed one to Vilkas but the Companion batted it away.

“Now what?” Edric sighed.

“You used magic!” Vilkas snarled. Edric didn’t deny it, gazing at him unapologetically as he took another bite. “Companions do not use magic!” Of course the whelp knew magic, if he was indeed the Dragonborn, who was known to be a skilled spellsword, but he should have set it aside upon joining the guild.

“No magic at all?”

“No, none!”

“Good to know,” Edric said with a nod as he walked past Vilkas. “Next time someone gets hurt I’ll make sure to keep my magic to myself. All of it.”

Realizing he was caught, Vilkas followed after him, growling, “Healing is different.”

“Uh, no, it isn’t, and I hardly think you’re any kind of expert on the arcane arts.”

“Restoration magic is accepted in Skyrim.”

“I’ve never seen anyone running mages out of the country, and I hate to break it to you, but magic is magic. It all comes from the same place: Aetherius. The mind channels it into its different uses. The magic that saved your brother’s life is the same magic that I used to keep myself from getting filled with arrows. I’m good, but even I can’t avoid four archers at once without a little extra help.”

“It is cheating!”

“Is it? Have you ever had to shapeshift to save your ass?” Vilkas didn’t answer. “Yeah, I thought so. I’m going to tell you what I told the rest of the Circle: if I have to use magic to avoid getting seriously injured then I’m going to.”

“Then we might as well turn around right now and go back to Jorrvaskr,” Vilkas said hotly, “because I refuse to go any further with you, _mage.”_

“Go ahead. I’ll go get that goddamn shard by myself then, and you can go back to Jorrvaskr and tell Kodlak you abandoned the mission, and me, because you were throwing a hissy fit over how I operate.” Vilkas bared his teeth and snarled, and Edric quickly turned around with his hands up, his expression intense. “Go ahead, wolf,” he murmured in a dangerous tone. “You won’t get any farther this time than before, except this time I won’t be healing you.”

Enraged, Vilkas hissed, “I know what you are. I know _who_ you are.”

“I don’t care what you think you know. What I know is that _you_ are a werewolf with questionable self-control. What I know is that _you_ are a Daedra worshipper, Son of Hircine. _You_ are a supernatural creature that is almost universally reviled. What am I?” Vilkas recoiled, his eyes wide, and didn’t answer. Edric lowered his voice and added menacingly, “If I begin to consider you a danger to the general public, I will put you down, Vilkas. I will _kill_ you, do you understand? I will execute you and the rest of the Circle can go to hell. What’s the old saying, it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission?”

“You…you would do that,” Vilkas whispered, chilled to the bone. Edric was dead serious, Vilkas’ question mostly rhetorical. Edric would put him down like a rabid dog. Vilkas could see his death in Edric’s eyes, which were as cold as the Sea of Ghosts. He could nearly smell the danger coming off the younger man in waves.

“You can barely control yourself. You’re a danger not only to the public but your own shield-siblings. Ask yourself how what you are compares to whatever you think I am. You answer to a Daedra. You sold your soul to the Lord of the Hunt, and for what? To be part of a secret club? To gain more power? And you dare to cast aspersions upon my honor for using magic, no, the _wrong_ kind of magic, as if there is such a thing. You dare to judge me from the vantage of your tiny, cramped little world underneath an overturned old boat. You are _small,_ Vilkas.” Edric turned and walked away.

Vilkas shuddered, his anger evaporated. He waited until Edric was out of sight then slowly began to follow, feeling ill at ease, and only partly because of the threat to his life. He was every bit as sure now that Edric was Dragonborn as before, if not more so. Edric’s words stung, too. Daedra worshipper. Son of Hircine. Yes, compared to the Dragonborn, well, it wasn’t much of a contest. Vilkas could scream to all of Jorrvaskr and Whiterun and Skyrim and beyond that Edric was Dragonborn, and what would that get him? He would look like a fool, a child. Small. It wouldn’t make anyone turn on Edric; if anything it would only make everyone love him even more.

As he made his way out of the cave he saw Edric feeding the horses apples. The younger man didn’t turn around, and for a split second Vilkas felt a sudden surge of irrational fury that made him nearly draw his small knife and try to slit Edric’s throat, hating him for…for everything. For turning Jorrvaskr upside down. For stealing Farkas and ruining his future. For stealing Kodlak’s attention. Stealing Skjor and Aela’s loyalty. Stealing Ria’s admiration. For stealing Whiterun from Balgruuf. For getting Lydia killed. Vilkas knew exactly what would happen if he attacked Edric again, and Edric wouldn’t heal him next time, and Vilkas would have to waste a potion or return to Whiterun with the shame of being beaten again. Or worse.

Edric glanced over his shoulder at Vilkas, the coldness in him gone, and Vilkas struggled with his beast, feeling a wave of shame over the murderous urge that had nearly gotten the better of him. And it would have been murder. Vilkas would have been a murderer, and anyone would have been within their rights to put him down. Edric clearly understood what a danger Vilkas was, just as Aela did. For a brief, weary moment he considered pulling off the ring and letting Edric finish it. Finish him. But doing that would be a surrender just as surely as giving in to his beast.

Edric sighed sympathetically and began, “Vilkas—”

Vilkas bared his teeth at him and growled, cutting him off, not bothering to stifle the wolfish behavior, then yanked the reins out of the young man’s hand and swung up into the saddle. He pulled the horse about then began riding back to the road, seeing a mated pair of sabre cats already slinking through the grass towards the bodies.

He was well onto the road when he heard Edric’s horse cantering behind to catch up. He could have tolerated more of Edric’s coldness, but not his sympathy. His pity. Edric thought he was probably being quite magnanimous, thought he was being some kind of hero to extend his compassion with one hand while threatening Vilkas’ life with the other. Well of course Edric was a hero. He was the fucking Dragonborn.

Vilkas squeezed his eyes shut against a wave of helpless fury, bunching the reins tightly in his hands. What the hell was Edric doing with the Companions anyway? Why would someone like him even come to Jorrvaskr? Was it all a joke to him? Was he slumming with a bunch of mercenaries as a way to amuse himself? He remembered quite well the Dragonborn’s first visit to Jorrvaskr a year ago, how the man had implied to Farkas that he questioned the honor of the Companions and considered them little better than hired thugs. Why would he return, healed and whole again, when Kodlak was on death’s door and the Circle at odds? He seemed fond of the old man. Both old men, since he seemed to like and respect Skjor. Had he promised the two of them, after Sovngarde, in Ivarstead, that some day he would give the Companions a chance? But how could that be when the Dragonborn had been such a mess? And yet even crippled and in constant pain, grieving a dead husband, he had eventually left High Hrothgar and continued doing his duty, destroying the vampire lord at the heart of the vampire menace, possibly even destroying another Dragonborn, if the tales were true, which Vilkas still doubted.

Vilkas opened his eyes, feeling another pang of shame, warring with the urge to hate the younger man. _You are small, Vilkas,_ he heard a voice whisper. Small and petty and self-centered and cruel. Even if the Dragonborn had left High Hrothgar only because the Greybeards ran out of mead, he could have gone anywhere. Instead he had continued doing his job, even as broken as he was.

Edric stayed mercifully silent as they continued to Dustman’s Cairn, riding slightly behind Vilkas, as if aware that the Companion didn’t even want to look at him. Vilkas didn’t want to see any softening in those grass-green eyes, and he sure as hell didn’t want those eyes to see Vilkas’ own guilt. After all Edric had possibly been through, he looked at Vilkas of all people with sympathy. Vilkas couldn’t tolerate that.

They reached the barrow as the sun was edging down behind the hills to the west. The horses were restless, tossing their heads as the two men dismounted. Vilkas lifted his nose and sniffed but smelled nothing worrisome, then his ears caught a creaking, clicking sound.

“Skeletons,” Edric murmured.

“There’s a burial ground on the back side of this hill,” Vilkas quietly said. “Hamvir’s Rest. Have you seen the ghost that rides about Skyrim, without his head?”

“The Headless Horseman? Aye, many times.”

“He can often be found there. It is said he is Hamvir, but no one knows his story.”

“I tried following him once, trying to figure out where he was going. I got bored with it pretty quick.” He pulled out his bow and a quiver of arrows then walked away from the horses and Vilkas, who tied their reins loosely to a nearby pine. If they were attacked they could free themselves with a few good tugs but would otherwise stay put. Edric crouched and crept to the edge of the hill with Vilkas behind him, and when he saw three skeletons he rolled his eyes. Vilkas studied the bow as Edric strung it without even a small grunt of effort then knelt and laid out two arrows in front of him then nocked the third. Then before Vilkas knew what was happening the arrows were all fired in quick succession and the skeletons were falling into heaps of bone, clattering like windchimes.

Vilkas narrowed his eyes as he finally saw the faint sheen on the bow. “So you have a magical bow as well,” he said in distaste. He had seen the dwarven bow before but hadn't looked at it all that closely.

“Yes. Her name is Zephyr. She was a gift from a dead friend, while we were in Arkngthamz.” He unstrung the bow.

“There is no honor in magic,” Vilkas insisted. “You cannot be a Nord and a Companion and use magic and still have any honor.”

Edric sputtered a laugh of derision as he stood, sliding the bow and quiver onto his back. “Tell that to Tsun and the mages in the Hall of Valor.” He smirked at Vilkas, who looked stricken. “Mm-hm. Mages will get in, but _you_ won’t. Funny, huh?”

The young man jumped down from the ledge then sauntered towards the sarcophagus at the back of the burial ground, pulling Stormfang as he went. Vilkas watched numbly as the lid popped off and a massive draugr in a horned helmet stepped out, wielding an ebony battleaxe. The bonewalker must have been a giant of a man in life, nearly seven feet tall, with a fire-red beard that reached the middle of its chest.

 _“Bolog fah aaz, mal gein.”_ The grating voice sent shivers up Vilkas’ spine, and when the creature stopped and arched its back to take a breath into its withered lungs he nearly cried out to warn Edric, but the words of power rolled out like thunder before he could think to speak. _“FUS RO DAH!”_ Edric stumbled back a few steps then laughed and went after the creature. Vilkas shook his head, bewildered. He had been blown off his feet and into a wall more than once by that shout. It was one of several reasons why Companions never entered crypts alone; the undead there often had the power of the thu’um and would disarm you or worse before you knew what had happened.

The draugr’s mummified muscles couldn’t keep up with Edric’s speed. The smaller man ducked under or spun away from the swung battleaxe every time it came for him, and little by little Edric hacked away at the creature until it was on its knees. A final well-placed swing sent the draugr’s head flying across the burial ground. The fight had taken all of two minutes, and Edric hadn’t used magic, though every time he had struck the draugr lightning had danced across its moldy, leathery skin.

Edric replaced his sword in its scabbard then bent down to pick up the axe, hefting it as easily as the much taller draugr had. He put it on his right shoulder then started back around the hill, stopping briefly to pluck a nightshade flower and stick it in his hair.

Vilkas rose to his feet as Edric approached, and he stared tiredly as the whelp grinned at him, taking the axe off his shoulder to show it to Vilkas. “Pretty nice, eh? That’s real ancient Nord craftsmanship right there. Should fetch a good price.” Vilkas didn’t respond at all, simply staring at the young man in the dying light, with the purple flower gracing his hair above his left ear. Edric’s smile faded then he pursed his lips and turned away. Vilkas rubbed his eyes, hearing Edric by the horses, probably securing his prize. Then he heard the clink of glass and the pop of a cork.

He sighed heavily as Edric put the bottle away then turned and started towards the barrow, without a word to Vilkas, the flower gone, his helmet now in place. He donned his own then followed the newblood down the stairs to the metal doors, seeing Edric studying them.

“Someone’s been digging here,” Edric stated. “And recently.” He motioned to the fresh scrapes in front of the door where dirt and debris had been cleared away.

Vilkas nodded, unsettled. “I told Kodlak and Farkas that I believe this could be a trap,” he muttered.

“Oh, no doubt of that. A fragment of Wuuthrad turning up in Whiterun hold of all places? Someone wanted to lure the Companions here, the Circle specifically. Wonder who could want a thing like that?” Edric drew his sword and pulled open one side of the doors, sliding through. Vilkas followed, pulling the door shut behind him as softly as possible, and when he turned around he reared back to see Edric staring at him intently, much too close. “How do you want to do this?” the newblood whispered.

“What do you mean?”

“If you have a problem with me using magic, I won’t be healing you if you take an injury. It’s all or nothing, wolf.” Vilkas’ upper lip twitched. “I know spells that can detect the living, and the undead. I can scout every room before we enter it and know the exact number and placement of any enemies.” Vilkas’ lips thinned out as he considered it, then he curtly shook his head. Edric sputtered a laugh of derision, shaking his head as well. “Have it your way, Companion. I hope you brought enough potions. For you, anyway.” He started walking then stopped suddenly and rounded on Vilkas. “I won’t let myself get crippled!” he hissed. “I won’t let myself get disfigured!” Again. The word was clearly implied.

“That is your choice.”

“That would be anyone’s choice!”

“I will not set aside my honor or that of the Companions for the sake of convenience.”

“You set aside your honor when you became a werewolf.”

“I was twenty-four when I took the blood,” Vilkas said through gritted teeth. “Me and Farkas, together. All our lives we trained to become Companions. Even Vignar says he cannot remember members of the Circle younger than us, so show a little respect, newblood.”

“Give me a reason.” He turned away. “Kodlak and Skjor have earned my respect. Aela and Farkas have earned my regard. You have not earned either.”

“We are not here for me to earn your respect!” Vilkas spat as he followed. “You are here to earn mine!”

“Yeah, something tells me that in your current mental state that’s going to be impossible.”

“I knew it. I knew you wouldn’t be able to keep your smart mouth shut!”

“I’m not jabbing at you; I’m arguing with you. Is no one allowed to debate anything with you? Not used to having someone as smart as you around, is that it?”

Vilkas ground his teeth together against a snarl of rage, resisting the urge to tackle Edric and start pummeling him. It would get him nowhere, and they both had weapons drawn. He refused to believe that Edric was as smart as him. More worldly perhaps, for obvious reasons, but not smarter.

As they passed through an archway into the burial chambers Vilkas accidentally kicked a loose stone, sending it skidding across the floor. Edric snapped, “Be careful. I’m not about to haul you back to Jorrvaskr on my back.”

“It won’t be me on your back, whelp!”

“Believe me, you’re the _last_ person I want on my back.”

Vilkas growled at the insinuation, but the groans and shuffles of undead moving towards them silenced any further bickering. Vilkas hung back and watched Edric furiously plow through the draugr, cutting one bony female in half. Another sprayed frost at the young man and he shrugged it off, leaving no doubt in Vilkas’ mind that he was fully Nord no matter his lack of height. One of the undead broke off and came for Vilkas, and he saw it rearing back to shout. He ran at it, ramming it with his shoulder before the thu’um came rolling out, knocking it back.

 _“Unslaad krosis,”_ it croaked as it came at him. Vilkas parried the swing of its sword then kicked it in the kneecap, breaking its leg backwards like a dry branch. It hissed and swung at him, immune to pain, dragging its leg as it came after him. He moved in and swung low, taking the broken leg off mid-thigh, and the draugr tumbled to the ground, its sword clattering on the stones. He stabbed down and severed its spine between the shoulder blades and the unholy light in its eyes finally died.

Vilkas followed the sounds of battle around the corner, seeing fallen draugr along the way, none of them bearing signs of magical damage. He hurried his pace, unable to help being worried about Edric’s inability to heal. He didn’t see or smell any blood, something his wolfish senses picked up more easily than anything it seemed, but the stink of the grave overpowered everything else. A roar of pain made Vilkas break into a run, and he skidded around a corner to see Edric backed against a wooden door, facing two draugr, his right upper arm bleeding. Both undead looked heavily damaged. Vilkas raised his sword and charged in but stopped short as Edric raised his right hand and his body was enveloped in a globe of sunlight. The draugr threw up their hands and made a hissing/wailing sound then began backing away, only to fall to the floor, truly dead.

Vilkas squinted against the light, shielding his eyes. Edric muttered, “It won’t hurt you. And before you get agitated, it’s a Restoration spell. Stendarr’s Aura. It’s only concentrated sunlight.” He glared at Vilkas and put his sword away as he stated petulantly, “I tried it your way and now I’m bleeding. Thanks a whole hell of a lot.”

Vilkas grumbled and said, “I told you I have no issue with the school of Restoration.”

“This _will not_ help me against anything but undead!”

“Do you have any bandages with you?”

“No! I’ve never needed bandages before! Why the fuck would I have bandages!”

Vilkas sighed and rubbed his eyes then let his hand fall, saying, “We need to go back out. To the horses. I have a kit in my saddlebag.” The aura fizzled out and suddenly he felt nearly blind.

“I’ll be fine.”

He moved towards Edric and offered, “Let me see—”

“I said I’ll be fine!” Edric pulled off his steel helmet and threw it, sending it bouncing off a wall.

Vilkas stared at him in disbelief, his eyes adjusting to the lower light. Edric was…by Ysmir, the whelp was _pouting._ Edric glared at him with a hurt expression, his full lower lip sticking out slightly, his jaw clenched and hair slightly mussed. The whole look combined with the wound probably would have sent Farkas over the edge and made him start fretting over his hurt little darling. Edric pulled his gaze away and grimaced in pain as he rotated his left shoulder, then his face contorted into an expression of helpless rage as he drew in a breath to yell. Vilkas lunged towards him, clapping his hand over his mouth with a hissing sound.

“Do not,” Vilkas ordered. Edric stared at him with huge eyes. “We have made enough noise in here as it is.” Edric nodded slightly, and when he blinked time seemed to slow to the consistency of taffy. It was beyond Vilkas how any man could have eyelashes so thick and long, or how anyone but an elf could have eyes so perfectly green. And…that smell. With Edric’s mouth covered and not breathing out liquor Vilkas could detect a spicy, almost sweet scent coming off him. A scent he had smelled before. A scent that he had made mental note of every time he opened the chest that held his most treasured possessions and pulled out the single dragon scale he had kept. Edric smelled of dragon.

“Dragonborn,” Vilkas whispered. Edric went still, and Vilkas lowered his nose to his hair and drew in a deep breath. The scent filled his nose and lungs, and it was just as Farkas had described. Edric smelled somewhat like the cinnamon that Tilma had put in their porridge as children, warm and spicy and….good. Vilkas could only imagine how good the rest of Edric smelled, underneath his armor, in places that were hot and sweaty from battle. He couldn’t help but wonder if the rug matched the tapestry, dark honey touched with moonlight.

Vilkas made a growling sound of pleasure and moved closer, trapping Edric between him and the door, his hand still over the whelp’s mouth. Edric’s eyes widened as he let out a horrified, mumbled, “Hell no!” and reached behind him and pushed the door open, stepping backwards.

Vilkas fell forward, catching himself, and as Edric backed away Vilkas followed, murmuring, “Where are you going, little dragon?” Edric glanced behind him at the approaching stairs, and when Vilkas grabbed at him he darted underneath the Companion’s arms and ran past him, back through the burial chamber. The beast reared up in excitement at being given a chase and Vilkas went after him, hearing the jingle of his armor farther ahead. That enticing smell drifted behind Edric as he ran, mixed with the scent of blood, an exotic blood that Vilkas had smelled but once in his life.

As he burst into the entry chamber he stopped and listened, not seeing Edric anywhere, but he could still smell him, and he let his nose search out what his eyes could not. He found the whelp crouching behind a mound of tumbled stones, and Edric spat out an obscenity and jumped to his feet, holding out hands which began to glow green.

“Stay back, wolf,” Edric warned. “Farkas won’t like—”

“Hasn’t he told you we share everything, little dragon?” he growled in reply, then his growl deepened. “Pretty little dragon.”

Edric shook his head as he clucked his tongue then he let the magic fly. Vilkas felt his muscles seize up and turn to wood, and as he stiffened and began to fall face first towards the floor he felt the fog of lust lift from his mind and had only a split second to wonder just how much his face meeting the stones was going to hurt.

He couldn’t even whimper as Edric caught him just in time then lowered him to the ground. He laid there unable to move a muscle as Edric rolled him onto his back, but he could feel his face burning with humiliation. Edric leaned close and murmured, “Meet you by the horses, _brother.”_ He slapped Vilkas on the chest in camaraderie then walked away.

Vilkas’ muscles freed up and he gasped, rolling up to his feet, and Edric spun around, his hands raised and glowing green again. Vilkas made a sound of embarrassment and looked away, and Edric sighed and lowered his hands, the magic dissipating.

“You fucking werewolves,” he said in exasperation. “Stop smelling me!”

“It’s not as if I can help it!” Vilkas hissed. “I cannot simply turn it off!” Edric turned on his heel and walked to the door exiting the Cairn, and Vilkas went after him, demanding, “Admit you are Dragonborn!”

Edric laughed bitterly. “You just don’t let up, do you?”

“I kept a scale from the dragon we fought. I’ve smelled it a dozen times.” He closed the door to the tomb then pulled off his helmet and yelled, “Admit it!”

“Uh-uh.”

“Why?!”

“Why should I?” Edric countered as he went up the stairs.

“Because it makes no sense not to do so!”

“It would make perfect sense, if you stopped and used your goddamn brain. In theory, _if_ it were true.”

“I always use my brain!”

“Not all of it.” Edric made a sound of pain and looked at his right arm, then he tiredly threw over his shoulder, “Just leave me the fuck alone the rest of the night. I’m exhausted. It was stupid to go in there this late in the day.”

“I have to look at your arm.”

“It’s a shallow cut. I’m fine.”

“You will let me tend to it as I would any shield-sibling or we are going home!”

“Any other shield-sibling could down a damn potion!”

“And you cannot, so let me look at it!” Edric walked with stiff shoulders to the horses, pulling off his cloak, and Vilkas went to his saddlebags and got out the medical kit that all Companions carried with them on jobs. He pulled off his gauntlets and tossed them on the ground then muttered, “We need to build a fire. It’s getting dark.”

“I know a spell for that,” Edric said sourly.

“I’m sure you do.” And frankly Vilkas didn’t want to build a fire and attract any attention with the smoke from predators or bandits. He made a sound of frustration and growled, “What the hell, just do it. I am sick of all this.” Edric smirked at him in the low light and raised his hands, a ball of bright white light touched with rainbow colors forming between his hands, then he tossed it above them, where it hung suspended, lighting a small area around them.

Edric looked away from him, pulling up the short sleeve of fur that went under his steel armor. Vilkas peered at the cut and indeed it was shallow, already drying up, but it looked puffy around the edges. Draugr didn’t use poison but their weapons were ancient and usually rusty, lying next to them in their burial niches in the filth of the grave. He narrowed his eyes at Edric and said, “It might be infected. Unless you want a case of ataxia you’ll need to drink a potion to cure disease.”

“And what if that doesn’t work?”

“We’re about to find out. Do you have one?”

“No.”

Vilkas grumbled in frustration. “Neither do I. The Circle is immune to disease, and the whelps always carry their own potions.” He set down the box and took out a roll of linen bandages. When he stood Edric was watching him warily. “Be glad you do not need to be sewn up. You wouldn’t find it pleasant.” The young man frowned as he grunted in acknowledgment. Vilkas washed off the wound with a bit of water then dried it and dabbed it with comfrey ointment, making Edric wince. “This will keep the dirt out, however we should still get a potion into you. If there are Silver Hand down there as I fear then they will be carrying potions you can use. The idiots think that they can contract lycanthropy from a scratch or a bite. For all their ‘studying’ of our kind they understand very little.” He wrapped a length of bandage around Edric’s upper arm, tying it tight enough to stay on but not hinder the other man’s movement.

“So you still consider them your kind, then.”

“It is what I am, whether I like it or not.”

“Was there ever a point when you did like it?”

Vilkas knelt down to put the bandages away. He debated how to answer, wary of discussing this with someone who wasn’t a member of the Circle. However after the hunt the other night and whatever Kodlak or Farkas might have told the whelp, secrecy was pointless. “I've enjoyed the boons that come with the beastblood,” he admitted, “just like every member of the Circle. Kodlak is right, though: we've given a piece of our souls for this power, such as it is. Bargains such as this lead to ruin. This is a curse that was laid upon us, that much is clear.” He closed up the small wooden box then stood to put it away. “You would do well to refuse the blood if it is offered to you.”

“Farkas seems to enjoy it.” Vilkas’ shoulders tensed up as he put the box in the saddlebag. “He seemed happy while he was changed. Free.”

“Free of what?” Vilkas snapped. As if his ice brained brother had any worries other than how to get Edric into his bed!

Edric shook his head and went to his horse, the orb of light following above him. “Forget I said anything. I just want to go to sleep, all right? Or do you want me to take first watch?”

“No, I’ll do it. I won’t be able to sleep anyway,” he finished in a mutter.

“All right.” He looked at his bandaged arm then glanced at Vilkas, who was watching him sullenly, silver eyes glittering in the light. “Eh, thank you.”

Vilkas nodded and pulled out his tent and bedroll, ignoring Edric as best he could. He noticed the light going out after a short while, leaving them in near darkness, and Edric cast the light again, not bothering to ask for permission or even glance at Vilkas when he did it. The whelp put up his own tent and laid out the bedroll then divested himself of his armor, piling it next to him under cover. Vilkas grit his teeth at the sound of a cork popping then the guzzling of drink. Then they were both in darkness.

He settled at the foot of his own bedroll, watching the Cairn and the road below. He could hear soft sounds of discomfort as Edric squirmed, trying to get comfortable, something that was no doubt difficult with an aching shoulder, the cut on his other arm and gods knew how many bruises from his fight with Skjor the day before, not to mention the hand he had injured punching Vilkas. Vilkas had to be glad that the wound had been so shallow or he might have been forced to stitch him up. Perhaps Edric wouldn’t have gotten injured if he hadn’t already been somewhat compromised from yesterday. No Companion would have headed out on a job sore and bruised like that.

Now that he wasn’t angry, at least for the moment, Vilkas tiredly wondered if perhaps he should say to Oblivion with the restriction on magic and let Edric do things his way. While draugr were no laughing matter, still, they were manageable opponents for the most part, slow-moving and dim-witted. If there were living, breathing enemies down in the barrow Edric was going to get badly, perhaps permanently, injured if he didn’t use magic or the thu’um, and for some bizarre reason he refused to shout or admit he was Dragonborn. Which still baffled and annoyed Vilkas to no end.

Vilkas wondered if King Ulfric knew that the Dragonborn had gone to Jorrvaskr or if Ulfric believed he was still with the Greybeards. It was possible Ulfric didn’t know Edric had gotten healed and thought he was still crippled and disfigured. It was possible Edric didn’t want Ulfric to know. Ulfric had no doubt left the Dragonborn alone because he believed Edric was still in constant pain, barely able to walk. Not useful. Not the glamorous, dashing good luck charm of the Stormcloaks he had once been. And Edric no doubt still resented Ulfric for lying to him about Ralof.

The Companion sighed and drew up his knees, starting to get an inkling, now that he was calm, of why Edric was hiding what he was. No one knew what the Dragonborn looked like, other than Ulfric and maybe Galmar and the Dragonborn’s remaining housecarls, perhaps a few Jarls. Living like this, Edric could go about his own business for the most part with little hassle. Vilkas wondered if Kodlak had offered Jorrvaskr as a safe haven, though surely Kodlak hadn’t bargained for Farkas developing a childish crush on Edric. It was tempting to tell Farkas exactly what Edric was, but it would make Kodlak and Skjor angry and not achieve Vilkas’ goal, which was to keep his idiot brother away from Edric. If Farkas found out Edric was Dragonborn it would only make the whelp more appealing than ever.

Edric’s fussing ended after a few minutes, replaced with deep, even breathing. Halfway through Vilkas’ watch it began to rain in earnest, making him wish they had made camp inside the barrow. At least in there it was warm and dry, and they could have set camp in such a way that anyone sneaking around would be detected. Well, there was nothing for it but to hunker down and hope the bedrolls didn’t get wet. The horses weren’t particularly happy either, but they were drier under the thick boughs of their pine tree than the tents would be.

He got some trail rations out of his pack and nibbled on them, chasing it down with water. He would let the whelp sleep for a few hours and hope by then that he could get at least a few unbroken hours himself.


	13. Chapter 13

** Vilkas – 1st of Frostfall, 4E205 **

_Vilkas sniffed the air, following the scent of cinnamon through Dustman’s Cairn. He saw a draugr sweeping the floor with a straw broom, trying to clean up the mess, and he paused and asked it, “Where did the little dragon go?” The draugr grunted and pointed at the wooden door nearby. “Thank you.” It grunted again and returned to its chore._

_He passed through the door and into his own room, where the spicy smell permeated the air. He saw two pairs of feet under the covers behind the room divider, and when he came around it he saw Edric snuggled into Farkas’ furry chest. “There you are,” Vilkas chided. “You should know better than to try to hide from my nose.” He climbed onto the bed, suddenly as naked as they were, though they were under the covers. He gently tugged on Edric’s arm. “Come here, little one. I’m cold.”_

_Edric turned his gaze on Vilkas, and his eyes glowed an unnatural hue of green, as if he were a draugr. “Unslaad krosis,” he sighed in resignation and moved away from Farkas to slide into Vilkas’ arms, and the Companion barely felt the brush of Edric’s skin against his own before Farkas yanked him back._

_“Mine,” Farkas growled._

_“There is enough for both of us,” Vilkas said angrily._

_“No there isn’t. He was mine first.”_

_Vilkas grabbed Edric’s other arm and pulled. “You’re supposed to share!”_

_“Not this I’m not.” Farkas pulled harder. Vilkas pulled back, baring his teeth, and his twin did so as well, a low growl of possessiveness in his throat. The brothers pulled with all their might, and the bowl of porridge went flying into the air, sending cinnamon-scented goop everywhere. Farkas cried out, “Now look what you’ve done! Now neither of us has any!” He shoved his brother out of the way and stalked out of the room, growling, “You ruin everything, Vilkas. You made Pa leave and now the porridge is gone too.”_

A clenching pain in his chest made Vilkas whimper, and the roaring in his ears combined with the pain made him fear the change was coming on, but when he opened his eyes he saw the roof of the tent above him. He stared at it, disoriented, his heart pounding. Rain beat on the waterproof canvas, and he stared at it, seeing it blur. He angrily rubbed the wetness from his eyes then rolled onto his side, still tired, as was to be expected, though it was later than it should have been.

“Hey,” he called out, not seeing Edric anywhere.

“Yeah, I’m here.”

Vilkas let out a breath of relief. “Why is it so late?”

“You seemed like you were finally getting some good sleep, so I let you sleep.” There was a rustling sound from Edric’s tent and he went on, “Hungry? I made some porridge.”

Vilkas’ breath caught as his heart began to pound again. “H-how did you make porridge?” There was no fire.

“Some questions are better left unanswered. Do you want any or not?”

“Sure,” he whispered.

“Huh?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said more loudly. He sniffed and rubbed his eyes again, hearing rustling and clanking, then the sound of booted feet on the grass. He pushed himself up to a sitting position as Edric knelt, grimacing as his left knee cracked loudly. Vilkas took the offered bowl, fearing he would smell cinnamon rising from it, and instead smelled apples and honey. He caught the faint whiff of mead from Edric and lifted his eyes to the other man’s, seeing him frowning slightly in concern. Vilkas narrowed his eyes as his upper lip twitched, and Edric put up his hands and abruptly rose and moved away.

Vilkas heard the sounds of Edric packing up his bedroll and tent. He sighed miserably and took a bite of the cooked cereal. He closed his eyes, feeling a wave of grief mixed with pleasure, the porridge warming him from the inside out, sweet but not too sweet, filled with chopped bits of apple and even some walnuts. Delicious. He rarely bothered to cook anything on the road other than fresh game, and neither did the other Companions. He could just imagine how Edric had cooked it, too, with his own hot little magical hands. How very convenient. He couldn’t even get angry about it, seeing as how he was benefiting from it. He supposed even if Edric were just some random adventurer that magic use not only would save his life but make it much more comfortable. Well, Companions were not adventurers, even if they were forced to act as ones occasionally in the course of a job. Magic had no place in their ranks.

He ate every bite of breakfast, licking the bowl clean, and afterward wanted nothing more than to lay down and go back to sleep with a full belly. Instead he wearily donned his armor, and when he heard Edric humming he nearly snapped at him to shut up. He heard a soft whicker from one of the horses, probably Edric’s as he put his camping gear away. As he fastened the buckles of his cuirass he realized Edric was humming "The Dragonborn Comes".

Vilkas made a sputtering sound somewhere between irritation and amusement. No doubt the whelp was doing it on purpose, a not very subtle dig at Vilkas. He got his armor on then packed up his bedroll and tent, seeing Edric taking a leak behind a tree. He tore his eyes away, feeling an uncomfortable twinge of longing as the dream came back to him, with the smell of sweet spiciness and the feel of warm, soft skin against him. It was then followed by the humiliation of his behavior in the barrow. Edric seemed willing to let it go, and gods knew Vilkas was more than willing to. He had to take comfort in the fact that he was such an unpleasant ass that even if Edric told someone, no one would believe it.

When the young man returned Vilkas handed him the bowl and spoon, and Edric asked, “How was it?”

“Fine,” he muttered, caught off guard by the question.

Edric rolled his eyes. “You’ll make a _wonderful_ husband someday.”

Vilkas clenched his jaw against a furious growl, and the tiny pang of hurt the comment caused only made him angrier. Because of Edric, Vilkas would most likely never get the chance to be a husband. He nearly snapped at Edric and said something about him acting like a nagging wife but caught himself at the last second. Even he couldn’t go that far, knowing who Edric was and what he had lost. Today was the 1st of Frostfall, and the 13th was less than two weeks away. The thought cooled his anger, and he secured his tent and bedroll as Edric pulled up handfuls of wet grass outside the horses’ reach and used them to clean out the bowl, feeding them to the horses who eagerly lapped them up.

Edric glanced at Vilkas and saw him scowling, and when the older man looked up he asked, “Will the horses be all right without water until later?”

“They should be. We need to finish this though; they’re no doubt thirsty.” He narrowed his eyes and said in a mock thoughtful tone, “One would think you haven’t had to care for an actual living horse in a while.”

Edric’s eyebrows rose in astonishment. “What other kind of horse is there?” Vilkas didn’t answer other than for his eyes to narrow further. “Can you even see when your eyes do that?”

Vilkas grumbled and stalked towards the Cairn, slamming his helmet down on his head. Edric’s acting ability never ceased to amaze the Companion. He heard Edric following and threw over his shoulder, “I hope you are more honest with my brother than you have been with me.”

“I’ve never lied to either of you and never will.”

“Your behavior is much too close to a lie,” he said as they went down the stairs. “This…charade of yours, do you not think it will hurt Farkas when he finds out the truth? Make the other whelps resent you?” Edric didn’t answer other than to make a _hm_ sound of polite interest. His blood suddenly boiling, Vilkas turned in front of the door and snarled, “Stay the fuck away from my brother!” At that he finally saw true anger in Edric’s eyes. He pointed at him and continued, “I don’t know what the hell kind of game you’re playing with him, but you will end it!”

“You think I’m playing a game?”

The cold fury in the other man’s eyes and the intensely dangerous tone to Edric’s voice made the hair on Vilkas’ body stand on end. “I think you’re taking advantage of someone who isn’t capable of—” He found himself slammed against the door, his breath rushing out of his body in a _whoof_ that left him coughing and vaguely hoping that none of the potions in his pack had gotten crushed.

“You call your brother the idiot,” Edric hissed. “You treat him like a child. You think to order his life to your liking as if he’s nothing more than an _accessory_ to you!” He punctuated the word with another slam against the door, leaving Vilkas blinking owlishly. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, wolf: _you_ are the idiot. _You_ are the child. You throw your little fucking tantrums and hold everyone around you hostage to your temper, and I’m sick of it!”

“Get your hands off me,” Vilkas said in a shaking voice. The strength in the smaller man and the fury in his green eyes were terrifying, and Vilkas was not one to be terrified. It simply didn’t seem possible that such a little person could be so fiendishly strong.

Edric went on as if he hadn’t heard him. “Farkas knows what he’s doing. Farkas can make his own choices, like any other grown man, and he shouldn’t have to waste an ounce of energy worrying about how his mentally ill tyrant of a brother is going to react to what he does!”

“I am not ment—”

 _“SHUT IT!”_ Vilkas shuddered as the faintest hint of thunder sounded in Edric’s yell. Edric pointed his finger in Vilkas’ face and said through gritted teeth, “Whether I let Farkas court me or not has nothing, _nothing,_ to do with you. You don’t factor into the equation. Farkas is a good man, and his love is pure and unselfish, something you wouldn’t know anything about, since I doubt that shriveled little husk in your chest is capable of the emotion. You dare, _dare,_ to accuse me of playing games with Farkas’ heart. I lost someone who was my life and you dare! A year I’ve grieved and finally someone moves me and you come along and piss all over it like some back alley dog!” He let go of Vilkas and glared at him for a moment then lifted his chin. “Yeah, I’m the Dragonborn, asshole,” he stated, “and if you fuck up things for Farkas I will _destroy_ you, but I won’t kill you, oh no. You’ll just wish I had.” Edric took a deep breath, calming himself, then he rotated his left shoulder and smiled thinly at the Companion, motioning to the door.

Vilkas swallowed, his heart racing. He didn’t say a word and slowly stepped aside, his pale eyes never leaving Edric. The Dragonborn pulled the door open and went inside, and as Vilkas followed him into the barrow the urge to stick a knife in Edric’s neck was nearly overwhelming. As they passed through the burial chamber Edric found his helmet, dented beyond usefulness, and he tossed it aside with a sigh.

They encountered nothing else as they went down some stairs into a large, round chamber, no doubt the main room where the bodies had once been prepared for burial. A gate barred the exit from the chamber, and Vilkas stayed in the middle of the room and watched as Edric gathered brownish-orange light in his left hand then reached out and made a yanking motion, throwing the lever. Vilkas made a sound of bewilderment as a gate came down over the alcove, which would have trapped whoever was inside it to pull the lever. The gate exiting the room rose, opening the way.

“How...how did—” Vilkas’ question died on his lips as the pounding of booted feet came down the hallway, and as Edric pulled his sword and backed toward Vilkas a dozen or more warriors poured into the room. The light from the braziers shined off silver-plated blades.

The leader grinned and said in delight, “Time to die, dog. We knew you’d be coming here.”

“Fuck this,” Edric said in annoyance. Vilkas gasped as Edric raised his hand, filled with fire, then cast the spell, surrounding himself in a cloak of flames. Vilkas was close enough that it should have burned him, but he felt only warmth. Edric went after the Silver Hand, who scattered with cries of pain as he plunged into their midst, setting them on fire. He started swinging and Vilkas shook himself and drew his own blade and began to fight, trying to trust that Edric’s spell wouldn’t harm him.

The effect lasted only a minute, during which several of the Silver Hand ran off in terror, and the ones who were left were clumsy, suffering from various degrees of burns. The stench of burnt hair and flesh was nauseating, though Vilkas had to admit that the spell had been effective.

The last of the attackers whimpered and ran for the exit, limping, and Edric walked after her and calmly finished her off. Vilkas looked the whelp over and saw that while he was bloody he seemed uninjured. He supposed that he probably should stop thinking of the younger man as a whelp though, considering. Edric glared at him and said, “If that ruined my chances, so be it.” Vilkas shook his head, catching his breath. “I have a better spell than that, but it tends to disintegrate enemies. I gave them a fighting chance.”

Vilkas nodded and looked away. “We both would have had difficulty with that many opponents,” he admitted, with extreme reluctance. Edric grunted, and out of the corner of his eye Vilkas saw him looking through the effects of those who hadn’t been burned too badly. He heard a sound of satisfaction and looked at Edric to see him taking the stopper off a potion for curing disease. The young man drank it down and a soft blue light wrapped around him, making Vilkas let out a tiny sigh of relief. At least those worked. “I would find a few more of those if I were you.”

“Mm-hm.”

As Edric pocketed some coins and some hawk feathers, Vilkas asked, “Why didn’t you just shout?”

“What good would yelling do?”

He made a sound of intense frustration. “Are you really going to keep this up?”

“Sure am.”

“Why?!” Vilkas cried, throwing his hands in the air.

Edric stared at him for a long moment then he sighed and bent down to look for a helmet. “I want to live my own life for a while. Before I get sucked back in.”

“Why would you?”

“Why wouldn’t I? You think Ulfric is going to let his greatest asset be just a common mercenary?”

“We are not common!”

“Regardless, he thinks I’m still in High Hrothgar, crippled and missing half my face. I haven’t used the thu’um since I got healed, hard as it’s been. Hardly anyone knows what I look like.” He found an iron helmet with a curved horn on each side and stood, sticking it on his head. “How’s this one look?”

“Ridiculous.”

“Yeah, I thought so.” Edric turned away and started out of the room, leaving the helmet on. “Anyway, I’m done talking about it. If any of the Silver Hand get away I don’t need them spreading the word, you get me?”

“Why not at least tell Farkas? Or Aela?”

Edric hesitated, then he finally said, “I want honesty. I want people to like me for me. Not for what I am or what they think I can do for them. I just want to be me for a little while. Is that so hard to understand?”

“No,” Vilkas quietly admitted. “I suppose not.” It actually made Vilkas squirm a bit with guilt to know the reasons, especially the second one. As he followed Edric out he asked him, “When do you plan to tell my brother what you are?”

“I don’t know. I will, but…” He grunted in aggravation. “I’m done talking about this.”

Vilkas fell silent, mostly because the chambers and passageways echoed terribly. Edric walked softly when he wanted to but Vilkas was simply incapable of it. When they came to a turn Edric held up his hand and Vilkas stopped; the young man’s hand began to glow pale blue, making Vilkas recoil, then the magic died and he held up three fingers. Vilkas nodded, trying to give up fussing about all this. It was futile, first of all, as Edric would do whatever the hell he wanted regardless of how Vilkas felt about it; secondly, Kodlak and Skjor knew damn well what Edric was and how he operated; third, this was not an ordinary job. They had been set up by their worst enemy, and they were outnumbered. Or had been. If Edric had to use magic to even the odds Vilkas couldn’t deny him that. Edric’s inability to heal magically was a serious liability, a potentially fatal one that would have made any Companion, any warrior, immediately change careers. That he had been badly disabled and maimed before no doubt made him even more paranoid about getting injured.

Edric drew out Zephyr and opened the top of his quiver, pushing his cloak aside, and silently strung the bow. This Vilkas had less problem with, even if it was a magical bow. He knew damn well that Edric had to have caches of much more powerful weapons all over Skyrim, and much better armor, and that he had limited himself to this would have to do. Arrow nocked, Edric crouched and peeked around the corner. He then smoothly moved around the corner as he stood, firing off two arrows in quick succession.

Vilkas heard a choked gurgle then Edric fired again as Vilkas moved behind him, his sword at the ready. Two of the Silver Hand lay on the floor, dead, while the third stayed hidden. Vilkas could hear strained breathing as Edric put away his bow and drew out Stormfang. His right hand lit up briefly then he pointed to an alcove. Vilkas followed as Edric cautiously approached the remaining Silver Hand in the area, and when Edric sighed Vilkas came up next to him to look.

A young man, barely more than a boy, was huddled in the alcove next to a pedestal, shivering, his exposed skin covered in burns, clearly in intense pain. He whimpered when he saw them, and Edric asked him, “How many of you, altogether?”

“Help me,” the boy whispered.

“How many?” Edric insisted.

“Twenty-three.”

Vilkas did a quick mental tally; they had killed ten Silver Hand in the round chamber. Three were here; another ten remained. Edric nodded and lifted his sword, and the boy choked out a sob and closed his eyes. Edric cleanly took off his head and the body slumped over. Edric looked at Vilkas, waiting for him to disapprove. “Let’s keep moving,” Vilkas stated, and Edric nodded and turned away. While killing the boy was regrettable, it was necessary. He had been perhaps nineteen or twenty, old enough to know what he was doing, and healing him then letting him go could have come back to haunt them later. Edric had obviously regretted having to do it, but he knew the necessity of the situation as well as Vilkas did.

When they came to a wooden door that was barricaded from the other side, Vilkas muttered, “What do we do now?”

Edric rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and Vilkas suddenly realized in shock that Edric’s face was as smooth as a woman’s. He blinked as he stared at the young man’s masculine jawline that was covered in peachy skin without a hint of stubble, unlike Vilkas’ currently raspy face. Edric had not one hint of male facial hair. Vilkas couldn’t fathom how he had failed to notice that before, especially when he’d had his hand over Edric’s mouth. He wondered if the healer hadn’t been able to make it come back, but then Edric had a very full head of hair, full eyebrows and eyelashes. Maybe Edric simply hadn’t wanted it back. Maybe—

“Did you hear a word I said?” Vilkas blinked and lifted his eyes to Edric’s. “I said, I could ‘yell’ at the door, if you get me, but I’d really rather not. I could eh, conjure up a friend to do it though.”

“Must you?” Vilkas asked in a sour tone. He found conjuration to be the most unsettling of the schools of magic next to necromancy. The idea of taking a creature from _there_ and bringing it _here_ made his skin crawl. He shook himself and spat, “Whatever. I just want to get this over with and go home.” This job had been more stressful than the last, for entirely different reasons. He felt emotionally drained.

“Back it up.”

Vilkas moved back about fifteen feet, and he felt a cold shudder go through him as Edric put away his sword then held both hands up in front of him. They filled with a deep purple glow as a look of intense concentration passed over Edric’s face. He slowly, gracefully waved his hands in front of him, gathering the magic between them as the glow intensified, then held his hands out to the sides, his arms trembling slightly. Vilkas could feel every hair on his body standing on end at the feel of immense power emanating from the other man. Edric’s expression hardened as he forcefully threw the magic at the ground, and Vilkas made a sound of dismay as a portal of purple light opened between the two of them.

A hulking frost atronach stepped out, and Vilkas clenched his jaw shut against making a sound as the creature’s featureless face swiveled around to look at him, as if assessing if he were friend or foe. He could feel the intense cold pouring off the beast, which stood a good ten feet tall, its pointy head nearly scraping the ceiling.

“Come.” Edric snapped his fingers and the atronach lumbered over to him. He pointed at the door. “Break it open.”

Edric backed up to stand near Vilkas, who was more than glad to let him play the human shield. The frost atronach pulled back one club-like arm then slammed it into the door, splintering the wood. There were satisfying cries of alarm from inside. Vilkas couldn’t help being curious as he asked, “How smart are they?”

Edric shrugged. “Eh, not too bright. About as smart as a troll, I’d say. They’ve been studied extensively, believe me, so I’m sure of that. Dremora on the other hand are cunning, as intelligent as humans and elves, in their own way. I don’t mess with those. And before you ask, I refuse to practice necromancy in any form.”

“Like that dead horse of yours?”

“That’s Conjuration, not necromancy. Arvak’s been dead a long time, he just doesn’t realize it. When I call him into this world it makes him happy. He goes back to the Soul Cairn afterward.” He drew his sword and moved forward as the door busted inward, sending Silver Hand scattering. “And that’s all you’re gonna get out of me,” he finished as he ran into battle.

Vilkas made a sound of frustration and ran in after him. It was a challenge to avoid the atronach’s swinging arms while also defending against the remaining Silver Hand, who had two archers at the upper sides of the room. Edric went after those while Vilkas stayed below. Between the two—three—of them they made quick work of their opponents, though there were only five, leaving another five to account for. Edric beckoned the atronach to follow him and Vilkas let it go first, not eager to get in the thing’s way, though it looked damaged. The wooden stairs creaked dangerously under its weight as it went up but they held.

By time they reached the open chamber where the remaining Silver Hand had holed up Vilkas had grown somewhat accustomed to the creature, though he stayed far away from it. The room was silent, and Edric cast his Detect Life spell once more and held up his full hand; five of the enemy remained. Vilkas raised his sword and drew a breath to yell a battle cry and bring the cowards out of hiding, and before a sound left his lips he was silenced by an arrow to the chest from an unseen archer up above.

He fell back with a choked scream, and Edric pointed at Vilkas, shouting at the atronach, “Guard him!”

Vilkas kept a grip on his sword, forcing himself to his feet again, sweat breaking out on his skin as the silver burned, much too close to his heart. He tried to get past the atronach but it blocked the passage into the larger part of the room, the cold radiating from it too intense to get anywhere near it. “Out of my way!” he cried weakly, but he might as well have not even been there for all the creature cared. He growled tiredly and let the sword droop as he leaned against a nearby stone wall, seeing hints of Edric fighting the remaining Silver Hand on his own. Another arrow came flying towards him but it struck the atronach instead, then he saw a bolt of lightning streak towards the archer, sending him flying.

That was the last magic Vilkas saw Edric use in the battle. As he watched the younger man fight, what he could see of it, he had to admire Edric’s grace. The way he moved was like a dance, smooth and almost effortless, his braid and cloak flying about him, the placement of his feet precise as he moved around obstacles on the floor, deftly avoiding fallen bodies and stones alike. Vilkas had never seen anything like it. _The breath of Kyne,_ he thought. Edric’s expression was one of intense concentration but held no fury, certainly nothing like the anger he had directed at Vilkas earlier that morning. The Silver Hand fell one by one, and when it was over Edric calmly cleaned his sword on a cloak then replaced his sword and came towards Vilkas. He watched the Dragonborn walk towards him and something about the way he moved made Vilkas’ heart ache. Or maybe it was just the arrow.

Edric gathered purple magic into his hand then threw it at the frost atronach, which seemed to blow apart then vanish, making Vilkas gasp. Once it was gone he said roughly, “Get this thing out of me!”

“Come on,” Edric murmured, taking Vilkas’ sword from him when he couldn’t raise his arms. He motioned for Vilkas to follow him further into the room, where sunlight was streaming down from a hole in the roof.

Vilkas wearily sat on a fallen stone block and tried to remove his cloak and gear but couldn’t do it, every movement sending agony shooting through his chest. “Hold still,” Edric quietly demanded. Vilkas did so, his eyes watering as every breath he took made the arrow grate against his ribs. He feared that his lung might be pierced, his breath short. He fought the urge to cough as Edric quickly and silently divested him of his helmet and gear.

“I can’t get your chest plate off without breaking off the arrow,” Edric stated.

“Do it,” Vilkas whispered. Edric nodded. Vilkas squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the the stone he was sitting on, his heart pounding with dread, knowing that no matter how he hurt, what was coming was worse. He bit his lip against a scream as Edric in one motion gripped the wooden shaft in both hands then snapped it like a twig. He could feel tears running down his cheeks from the pain and didn’t care. He had taken arrows before, but never in the chest, where it could get caught up in the bone. He couldn’t think straight to figure how Edric was going to get it out. If he just pulled it out…

Edric began unbuckling the straps to Vilkas’ cuirass, and though he was as gentle as possible it still made Vilkas cry out as it pulled on the shaft of the arrow. Edric unbuttoned the doublet that went under the armor then slid it off, jostling the arrow again. “Shit,” he whispered.

Vilkas looked down and saw blood bubbling up around the wound. Bubbling.

Edric sat back on his heels, assessing the situation, the tip of his tongue darting out to wet his lips, then he nodded and decisively said, “All right then.”

“W-what?” Vilkas whispered. Edric didn’t answer right away, sliding off his own pack and throwing off his cloak and weapons along with his gauntlets and helmet. The Dragonborn dug through his pack then brought out a small purple bottle. Vilkas had never seen a potion like it. The liquid inside glowed a lovely violet color, swirling hypnotically inside the glass.

“Drink this,” Edric ordered.

“What is it?”

“Sleeping tree sap. It’s going to sedate you a bit while temporarily increasing your health so I don’t end up killing you.”

“No,” Vilkas said with a shake of his head. “No drugs.”

“It’s tree sap, dimwit, not skooma. It comes straight from a tree. I’m sure you’ve seen it, that glowing tree in the middle of a giant’s camp, west of Whiterun.” Vilkas nodded slightly. “It wears off completely afterwards and isn’t addictive. I use it to help me fall asleep once in a while.” Vilkas hesitated, and Edric narrowed his eyes and said in an ominous tone, “I could _make_ you drink it, wolf. You’d like that even less.”

“Fine.” Edric unstoppered the vial and held it out to Vilkas, who grimaced and took it, having no other choice. He drank the sickly-sweet contents down in one gulp, then he blinked as his vision began to blur and the world turned purple. “Whoa,” he whispered. “Everything is purple.” He touched Edric’s forehead with a fingertip. “You’re purple,” he breathed.

Edric laughed, “Crazy, eh? Now lay back and hold still.”

Edric helped him lay back on the slanted stone then got out a small knife and crawled over him to straddle his waist and hold him down, all in slow motion. Vilkas’ vision swam, the pain something distant. Edric was warm, the spicy scent all around him as his braid fell to the side, tickling Vilkas’ ribs. He made a sound of pain as he felt the knife cut into him, but it was bearable, the sleepy pleasure of the sap overriding everything else.

He winced as the knife cut again. He grabbed onto the nearest, easiest thing to hold onto, which happened to be Edric’s thighs. He slid his hands along the leather, feeling the slender strength there. Edric glanced at him in surprise, his mouth falling open, and Vilkas whispered, “You’re so pretty.”

“Good grief, this is not the time,” Edric said tiredly, then added in a mutter of distaste, "It'll _never_ be the time."

The Dragonborn shook his head and continued what he was doing, frowning every so often as he glanced at Vilkas, who couldn’t take his eyes off Edric’s face. It didn’t seem possible that a man could be so lovely. The planes of his face, the angle of his cheekbones and the line of his jaw, with the hint of a cleft in his chin… it was all so perfect, and those eyes, like two emeralds touched with peridot, and that sweet, pink little mouth with that plump bottom lip…and that smell, gods, that smell…

Edric squawked in alarm as Vilkas tried to sit up towards him, sniffing, and he pushed him back, demanding, “Lay the hell still, damn it! What’s wrong with you?”

Vilkas did what he was told, mumbling sleepily, “You’re cute when you’re bossy.”

“Shut the fuck up, for Shor’s sake!”

Vilkas laughed, “Bossy little dragon.”

“You’re going to die if I don’t get this out, idiot! You feel good now but it won’t last much longer!”

Vilkas finally lay still and silent, some tiny voice of reason telling him that Edric was right. The same voice told him that he was going to feel like Nirn's greatest fool when the potion wore off, but he felt so content right now that he couldn’t bring himself to care. He rubbed his thumbs along Edric’s thighs and watched that sweet face as he held onto him, ignoring the jolts of pain in his chest as Edric cut out the silver-coated steel arrowhead. When it finally came out Edric examined it, making sure it was all there, then tossed it aside. The burning sensation ceased, though the pain was still there.

Edric’s bloody hands glowed gold as he built the magic between them then let it go, and Vilkas felt a surge of warm, intense well-being go through him as the pain evaporated. The wound instantly closed as his strength came back, and he growled and gripped Edric’s legs harder, pressing his groin against the firm little backside on top of him. Edric pushed against Vilkas’ bare chest, a look of horrified alarm on his face.

“Come here, little one,” Vilkas murmured as he slid an arm up Edric’s back, the steel cold against his hand. “Let me taste you.”

“No!” Vilkas growled, baring his teeth, and Edric pushed harder, grunting, “No. Means. No!” He broke free of Vilkas’ grasp and sprinted away, and Vilkas pushed himself to his feet and began stumbling after him. Vilkas saw his hands glow green with paralyzing magic then Edric shook his head and let it die. The young man looked around then began to run towards a tilted column, and Vilkas stopped in his tracks in shock as Edric shouted _“WULD NAH!”_ and shot up and across to an inaccessible stone walkway, out of Vilkas’ reach, where he crouched like a cat, glaring at Vilkas with a hurt expression.

“No fair, little…” He blinked as the effects of the sap began to quickly wear off. “Dragon…” Vilkas shuddered as his vision returned to normal and the feeling of slowness faded. Edric stared at him with his brow furrowed, his braid hanging down in front of him, his hands red with Vilkas’ blood.

Vilkas lowered his eyes, his face burning, and turned away. Rage warred with humiliation and loss, making his fists clench. He stalked away, back to his gear, seeing his own blood everywhere. He supposed there was a sort of twisted balance in Edric saving his life as well as Farkas’. And just like his idiot brother, he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off the Dragonborn. He hadn’t been able to resist that smell, or that face, or the warm slender body on top of him, strong as a man but as lithe as a woman. He pulled on his bloody doublet, having no choice about it, and heard the soft thud of Edric dropping down from his perch. He closed his eyes, embarrassed beyond belief that he had forced Edric into using the thu’um to escape his advances. He couldn’t fathom why Edric hadn’t simply paralyzed him again, as he had been ready to do, unless Edric had pitied him, not wanting to drop him on his face or embarrass him again. Well, Vilkas had done a very handy job of embarrassing himself, without any outside assistance.

He kept his back to the Dragonborn as he heard the younger man going through the Silver Hands’ gear, then the splashing of water as he no doubt found a canteen of water to wash his hands with. Well, there was absolutely no doubt now of who and what Edric was. None whatsoever. A flash of burnt, ruined face ran past his mind’s eye, and it amazed Vilkas all over again that the mysterious healer had been able to fix the Dragonborn’s damage so completely. It was the eye that really boggled his mind. He just couldn’t get past that. That alone would have made him keep doubting, if he hadn’t seen him use the thu’um. Vilkas couldn’t really figure out why he had, instead of just dropping Vilkas on the floor as he deserved.

He went to pull on his cuirass then stopped, seeing the Skyforge steel plate punched inward. He sighed, his fledgling plan to hide what had happened to him dead before it even fully formed. Well, he should have to admit that Edric saved his life, and skillfully at that. It was only fair. And now he had a nice little scar near his heart to make sure he never forgot it.

“Let me see that.” Vilkas glanced up and saw Edric nearby, his hand out, avoiding Vilkas’ eyes. Vilkas handed over the armor and Edric sat down on the rock with it on his lap. He dug around in his pack and came out with a small repair hammer. Vilkas grimaced at the thought of how Eorlund would react to a whelp working on Skyforge steel. He wasn’t about to fuss about it, remembering that Edric was most likely an expert smith if he had been able to alter ebony armor to suit his needs. He watched as the young man carefully hammered the steel back into place; the damage was still there, but there were no longer sharp edges of steel bending inward. That Silver Hand archer must have had one hell of a draw on that bow to do that kind of damage. “There,” Edric said in satisfaction. He put the hammer away then stood, holding out the armor.

“Thank you,” Vilkas mumbled. He pulled the cuirass on and began to buckle it.

“It didn’t happen, all right?” Vilkas glanced at him and saw that Edric was still avoiding his eyes. “The… the sniffing, the chasing, the paralyzing, the arguing…it never happened. We bickered a little and that was it.”

“Aye,” Vilkas muttered with a nod, feeling intensely relieved. Farkas would not be happy at all to learn that his twin had come on to his little darling. Twice. That morning’s dream came back to him as he buckled his armor, sending pangs of loss through him. No, Farkas would not at all be happy with Vilkas for what he had done, even if it had been done under the influence of his beast. The blood wouldn’t have driven him to it if he wasn’t denying it. Farkas wasn’t molesting or chasing Edric and he was the one infatuated with the young man.

Feeling a wave of relief, Vilkas replaced all his gear. Yes, that was what had driven him to his shameful behavior, and that was all. While he could appreciate another man’s attractiveness, he wasn’t what he considered a lover of men. He hadn’t gotten into bed with another man in over ten years. His sights were currently set on Narri and that was it. His reaction to Edric was the beast’s fault, the wolf sniffing at the dragon and finding it pleasing, nothing more. Edric was a headstrong, annoying, lying little bastard. There was simply no reason to be attracted to him other than his looks and smell. Simple biology, yes.

With their gear back in place Edric lead the way out of the room. Vilkas was more than happy to leave it behind.

It quickly became apparent as they fought their way through the next level of Dustman’s Cairn that the dying lad had lied about there being only twenty-three Silver Hand in the barrow. By time they finished up they had taken out thirty-four altogether. Vilkas felt no shame in admitting that he would have probably been screwed if he had been in the company of one of the other whelps, and even another member of the Circle would have been at risk due to the silver weapons. Another member of the Circle would have had to shapeshift to deal with the situation. It was also becoming apparent that the fragment of Wuuthrad might not be here; they had searched every body and found no sign of it.

The size of the barrow was starting to get aggravating by time they came upon a mother frostbite spider guarding half a dozen egg sacs. Edric dispatched her quickly with several firebolts, then he began systematically burning the eggs, a look of distaste on his face. When he edged close to the big dead spider then hurried around it, Vilkas said in amusement, “Don’t tell me you are afraid of spiders.”

“I don’t particularly like them,” Edric admitted primly. “I can manage, but no, I don’t like them. It made the Shor’s Stone job rather unpleasant. Both times.”

“Farkas is terrified of them. I cannot count how many nights I’ve been awakened by him begging me to get one out of his room, only to find a tiny little house spider on the wall.”

Edric laughed, “Eh, that’s cute.” He lit up his hand with fire and said, “That’s what this is good for. Don’t have to get anywhere near them.” He let the fire die. “I could manage before a few years ago. I had a ah, traumatic experience. In Shroud Hearth Barrow. Biggest mama spider I’ve ever seen had some dark elf guy wrapped up in there. She poisoned me and got me down on the ground, and when I killed her she fell right on top of me. I was trapped there until the poison wore off. Gah!” He shuddered and rubbed his arms, and Vilkas could see the goose bumps there.

“Don’t tell Farkas about that. Ever.” Edric laughed and nodded in agreement.

They ran across several more draugr before they reached the final chamber, and Edric put out his arm. The young man's right hand lit up in lavender then he motioned to the crypts. Vilkas looked past him at the large room lined with sarcophagi and felt a chill go up his spine; no doubt every single one held a dormant draugr. “Quietly,” Edric whispered. “This is the end chamber, so if the fragment is around, it’s here.”

“It’s possible it was never here.” Edric shrugged. The two men crept across the floor, and Vilkas counted roughly a dozen tombs lining the wall. Better draugr than Silver Hand, though the werewolf hunters couldn’t use the thu’um.

They reached the end of the tomb, and when Vilkas realized that the engraved tomb marker at the end was a word wall that contained a word of power he held his breath, waiting to witness what few if any other living souls had: the Dragonborn learning a new component to a dragon shout. When nothing happened and Edric didn’t even glance at the engraving Vilkas felt a sudden realization that made him feel alternately enraged and baffled: Edric had been here before.

“Damn you,” Vilkas hissed. “Damn you to Oblivion!” That was how Edric knew this was the final chamber. That was how Edric knew that lever way back at the beginning was a trap. That was how he had navigated so surely through the entire place, why he hadn’t bothered to look in any treasure chests or urns. He had already thoroughly pilfered the entire place at some point in his sordid career.

“Hm?” Edric glanced at him, but before Vilkas could say anything more Edric grinned at him and plucked something off the table in front of him, drawing his sword at the same time.

The crypts began to pop open, and Vilkas roared in fury as Edric ran past him, his body enveloped in a cloak of sunfire. No more than three or four draugr came out at once, so the two of them made quick work of the room, but Vilkas was seething the entire time. No, Edric had never lied to him, that was true, but he sure left a hell of a lot out of every goddamn conversation.

When they found themselves coming out of a long, hidden stone passage into the initial room that exited the crypt, Vilkas shouted in anger and turned on Edric, who gazed at him calmly. “You have been here before!” Vilkas yelled.

“Well…yes.”

“When!”

“Early fall of 201, I reckon. Almost exactly four years ago. Lydia and I were passing by on our way to Eldersblood Peak and thought there might be a word wall down here. I learned _yol.”_

“What the hell is yol?” Edric turned his head to the side then took a deep breath and shouted _“YOL!”_ and Vilkas stumbled backward with a gasp as fire boiled out of the Dragonborn’s mouth. “Holy fuck,” he whispered. He remembered the fire shout, from the dragon fight near Rorikstead. Edric took another deep breath and closed his eyes, then his expression crumpled slightly before he reopened them. Vilkas frowned at him, wondering why he was shouting now, twice today, when he’d told Vilkas earlier that he hadn’t shouted since he had gotten healed. He wondered if the urge to shout was anything like the urges the beastblood gave, if every use of it made it that much harder not to use it the next time.

“I probably shouldn’t have done that,” Edric murmured. “Bad habit to get into.” He drew himself up and patted his chest. “I’ve got the fragment. After we leave here…I’m not saying another word about what I am. I keep your dirty little secrets, you keep mine. Deal?”

Vilkas struggled with it before muttering, “Fine.” There was so much Vilkas wanted to ask him, about the things he had done and seen, what it was like to be Dragonborn. Then again Vilkas didn’t want to get any more familiar with the whelp. Whelp. Yes, that was all Edric was. It was best if that was all Vilkas thought of him as: the whelp who had come along and upended everything. The whelp who threatened to destroy the plans Vilkas and his brother had agreed upon twenty years ago.

As they exited the barrow Edric tossed the ridiculous horned helmet aside and asked, “So, did I pass?”

Vilkas didn’t hesitate in answering. “Aye. You behaved honorably. I will vouch for you before the Circle.” Edric gave him a bright smile that was almost blinding in its beauty. Vilkas tore his eyes away and stomped up the stairs, the helpless anger returning. It was familiar, comforting in its own way. He would return home and admit that the whelp had behaved with honor, even in his use of magic, then Edric would be only another annoying newblood underfoot.

They fed the horses a few handfuls of grain then rode them down the hill towards a stream that flowed there. While the horses drank deeply, Edric took out a sliver of soap and began washing his hands and face, using a knife to clean under his fingernails. Vilkas watched this with irritation and confusion. There was such fastidiousness in it that it was as if he was a cat compulsively grooming itself, or a bird preening. Or…a dragon. He had heard people say that dragons had been seen preening themselves atop their word walls or mountain peaks.

When Edric stood up looking fresh and smiled at him Vilkas growled and turned away. They let the horses graze a bit longer then headed back to Whiterun, neither saying a word. Vilkas didn’t look at him even once on the way back, and neither spoke other than Vilkas asking him as dusk fell whether they should push on the extra couple hours or camp near the Western Watchtower. Edric opted for heading on, though they got off their horses to walk them the rest of the way. Vilkas was relieved, wanting his own bed tonight, his own room where he could shut the door and lock it and be alone. He didn’t want to sleep near the whelp and hear him breathing or humming softly to himself. Forget it. He wanted to put this entire trip behind him and pretend a good many parts of it never happened. He prayed that his dreams let him do that, and that it was a long time before he tasted porridge again.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of the previous chapter, that evening...

** Farkas – 1st of Frostfall, 4E205 **

The sound of his brother’s door slamming shut woke Farkas from a light sleep, and he launched himself out of bed and out of his room. He went out to the hall and looked up and down, not seeing or hearing Edric anywhere, so he went back to knock on Vilkas’ door, unable to help feeling worried. Had Vilkas come back alone? Did something happen to Edric? Did Vilkas’ attitude push Edric into leaving? Did Vilkas not find Edric honorable enough to be a Companion, maybe because the younger man had used magic?

Vilkas yanked the door open, looking filthy and exhausted, and Farkas opened his mouth to ask how things went when his eyes landed on the bloody hole in his brother’s armor. It looked as if it had been repaired to keep the sharp edges from digging in. It was Vilkas’ blood though. He smelled as if he was soaked in it. “What happened?” Farkas asked with deep worry as he came in.

“I nearly died,” Vilkas spat. “Silver fucking Hand. It was a setup, just as we feared.” Farkas growled with mixed worry and anger. “It seems we both owe the whelp our lives. He cut out the arrow and healed me then repaired my armor enough to get us home. Between the two of us we killed thirty-four of them.”

“Shit,” Farkas breathed in amazement.

“Not all at once, but still…” Vilkas rubbed his face, which was coated in smeared warpaint and splattered blood. “The whelp is a mage. Battlemage, spellsword, whatever you call it. I would have liked to know that before we left.” Farkas had no response to that; Vilkas hadn’t exactly been approachable beforehand. Vilkas huffed and waved off his twin’s obvious worry as he continued, “No matter. He still behaved honorably, and I will sponsor him before the Circle in the morning.”

Farkas smiled and said, “That’s great. Thank you, Vilkas.” He pulled his brother into a hug, and Vilkas sighed and patted his back then gently shoved him away. Farkas looked down at his sleeping tunic and none of the grime and dried blood seemed to have rubbed off. “So you’re okay, then? He’s okay?”

“He’s fine. Took a small cut on the arm from draugr, nothing more. I feel fine, just tired," Vilkas muttered. "It was a nasty wound. Took a silver arrow to the chest, barely missed my heart.”

Farkas whined with fresh worry, a stab of fear going through him at the thought of losing his brother. As much as he felt for Edric, losing Vilkas would always be the greater loss. Vilkas had always been there. Always. The two of them had never spent more than a week or two apart their whole lives. They had shared a womb, a crib, a bed, until their early teens, and had shared a room until joining the Circle together.

“He dosed me with this…weird tree sap. It sedated me enough to get the arrow out, but…eh, it was weird. Everything turned purple and slow.”

“Purple and slow,” Farkas muttered in bewilderment. “No shit. Well did you guys get along?”

Vilkas shrugged. “I won’t lie, we butted heads a few times. Bickered. I suppose he held his tongue as well as could be expected, considering who he was stuck with. I…did not make it easy on him.”

Farkas sighed, “Vilkas.” His brother's admission was surprising, though. It wasn't like him to admit fault so easily.

“We got along better than I expected. He won my respect, magic or not.”

Relieved, Farkas said, “I…guess that’s all I can ask. So was the fragment of Wuuthrad there?”

“Aye. The whelp has it. He will give it to Kodlak in the morning.” He stripped off his gauntlets and tossed them next to a loaded plate of food, glancing at Farkas as if he wanted to say something else, then he shook his head curtly and remained silent.

Farkas let it go and helped Vilkas with his armor, not about to provoke his twin when he seemed to be in a subdued, not unpleasant mood. When the cuirass came off, the dried blood soaking the front of the doublet made Farkas grumble with anxiety.

Vilkas patted his shoulder and said, “I told you, the whelp took care of it. Even with the silver there is barely a scar there. See?” He slid off the doublet and pointed to the scar on his chest, a few inches to his right of his breastbone.

It was much smaller than Farkas expected, a clean thin line not even two inches long. Well, Farkas himself had gotten all sliced to hell with silver that one night and had little more than marks like that to show for it. Edric was a good healer, and the beastblood had helped Farkas to survive, and recover. Farkas thought it probably wasn't the best idea to remind Vilkas of that.

Vilkas tossed the smelly garment aside and continued with quiet worry, “If it had been Edric…” He shook his head. “He should _not_ be in this line of work. All of us rely on healing potions or priests’ magic. Every sellsword or mercenary I’ve ever known does. Every guard and soldier does.”

“I know,” Farkas mumbled. It made him worried sick to think of Edric taking a serious wound, and taking one like Vilkas had suffered? Edric would be dead, and that was the end of it. He would’ve died in Vilkas’ arms and… He took a deep breath then bit his lip, feeling a swell of grief and anxiety at the thought. It was pretty much unbearable, almost as unbearable as losing his brother would be.

“It was why I said to hell with it and told him to use magic if he felt he must. I didn’t know what else to do, especially after it became apparent that it truly was a trap. Thirty-four fucking hunters,” he said in aggravation. “If anyone but Edric had been with me it would have been a much closer call.” He snorted bitterly. “No, it would have been a disaster, after I took that arrow. He conjured a frost atronach to smash in a door that was barricaded, and he set it to guard me after I was wounded. The thing was creepy as hell. I have never been so close to a Daedra before. I could feel the cold pouring off it, and it was immense, nearly as tall as a giant.” Vilkas shuddered in distaste. "I do not care if the thing was guarding me or not, I never want to be anywhere near one ever again."

“Wow,” Farkas said in amazement. It was shocking to hear his brother speak so calmly about magic, something Vilkas had always detested. Maybe he really was just tired. Farkas supposed if anything would change his twin’s mind, or at least make him tone it down, it would be something like this. Farkas found magic unsettling too, but he trusted Edric. Maybe Vilkas finally did now too, at least a little. He smiled at his twin and said, “I’m glad you two are okay. And got along all right. He told me before you guys left that he just wants to get along with you.” Vilkas frowned the slightest bit, almost looking guilty, then he cleared his throat and looked away, continuing to strip off his armor. Farkas was going to ask what was wrong, but he would rather get it from Edric, who wouldn’t throw a possible fit about the question. “You gonna take a bath before bed? You stink.” He wrinkled his nose and waved his hand in front of it. “Bad. Why do you smell so bad after just two days?” It was a certain wolfish muskiness and something else he couldn’t put his finger on, but whatever it was it reeked, more than the blood did.

“It was stressful.”

Vilkas’ clipped tone and tight expression told Farkas it was time to leave. “Okay,” he said with a nod. “Good night.” Vilkas grunted and Farkas left it at that, leaving his brother’s room and closing the door.

He returned to his own room and waited until he heard Vilkas leave and go to the bathing room. He had debated just going to bed, but he couldn’t stand the thought of not seeing Edric tonight. Not making sure he was okay. He walked on bare feet to the whelps’ quarters, the others asleep, but Edric’s bed was still made and empty. Farkas glanced down the hall towards Kodlak’s quarters but that door was also open and the old man was no doubt asleep, late as it was.

Farkas headed upstairs, the door between floors left open to let the air flow through, and he felt his heart swell to see Edric sitting at the table with his back to the stairs, still in his armor, his sword and pack at the side of his chair. Farkas walked over to him and saw he was nursing a bottle of mead as he ate. His plate had the remains of salmon, greens and potatoes, along with a slice of bread thick with butter and honey; it was fairly obvious Tilma had fixed it for him, since it was identical to the plate of food Vilkas had in his room. Edric looked tired but healthy, not drawn and stressed out as Vilkas had been.

Edric looked up at him and smiled in greeting. “Farkas.”

“Hey,” Farkas said warmly. The young man patted the seat to his right and Farkas happily took it. Edric looked at him and Farkas smiled, clasping his hands between his legs to keep them from reaching out and grabbing his beloved in relief. “I’m glad you and Vilkas are okay,” Farkas stated.

“Mm, it was dicey there for a bit,” Edric said with a slight shake of his head. “Did you talk to your brother?” Farkas made a sound of assent. “It was a trap. The Cairn was infested with Silver Hand. Got the fragment though.”

“Vilkas said you saved his life.”

“Did he? That’s nice.” The odd tone to Edric’s voice as he continued eating worried Farkas. “What else did he say?”

“That you two argued a little but got along okay. He admitted he was partly at fault.”

“Partly!” Edric said with a short laugh. “Okay. I’ll take partly.” Farkas bit his lip, his frown deepening. Edric patted his shoulder then squeezed it. “No worries. We got along better than I thought we would.” His eyebrows then rose and he squeezed Farkas’ shoulder again, more slowly this time, as if testing something. Edric’s hand fell away and he said with a sly smile, “Oh my.” Farkas laughed, slightly embarrassed but flattered. Edric took a drink then set the bottle down with a clank and reached down beside his chair, coming back up with a sight that made Farkas whistle. “Yeah, take a look at this beauty. Fought a draugr for it. Biggest son of a bitch I've ever seen. Even bigger than you.”

Farkas took the ebony battleaxe from him, the weight taking him by surprise. “Heavy. Beautiful though, wow.” He admired it for a few moments then handed it back, and when Edric came back up from laying it down Farkas’ eyes landed on the bandage around his upper right arm. He lightly touched the edge of it and softly said, “I’m glad this is all that happened to you. I was scared when I saw the hole in Vilkas’ armor.”

“I was scared when I saw the hole in his armor,” Edric replied.

"Was it as bad as he said?"

Edric shook his head. "Nah. I mean, it was no laughing matter. I thought for sure it was going to be more than I could handle, but once I got his armor off and took a look it wasn't as deep in as I'd thought. I'm sure it hurt like hell though, and as it was I had to dose him with sleeping tree sap so I could cut the arrow out. Healed up pretty well though. You guys are tough.” He picked up his fork and winked at Farkas. "Vilkas doesn't need to know that though. If he thinks I saved his life, that's all for the good."

"Yeah, I reckon so." Farkas let his hand fall away, frowning. “This Silver Hand thing is getting out of control,” he muttered. “Stalking us in our own backyard, setting up traps… We’ve gotta do something about it.”

Edric bit his lip, fiddling with his fork, then he murmured, “I think Skjor and Aela have been.”

Farkas grunted. “It would explain where they go sometimes.” The two were sometimes gone for several days at a time, saying they had a job to do, but they never explained what job. Njada thought they were lovers, but the twins and Kodlak knew better. Aela had no interest in taking a permanent mate, though they knew she took lovers outside the pack as she saw fit, and she had mentioned from time to time that she wanted children at some point; she was only a few years older than Edric so she still had some time, but she wouldn’t want kids with an old man. And everyone would be able to tell if she was fooling around with Skjor, or at least the werewolves would be able to tell. Aela definitely wouldn’t want to take a mate that was nearly old enough to be her father. It was one thing to fool around once a year, but she didn’t want an old man for keeps.

He watched Edric drink as they sat in silence, and Farkas suddenly worried that maybe he was too old for Edric. It seemed like he saw more gray hairs every month, more small lines at the corners of his eyes, while Edric’s face was smooth and unlined, perfect except for the shiny pink scars on his right cheek and the slash across his nose. Farkas didn’t even notice them anymore. They were just part of who Edric was, though Farkas was certain there was a terrible story behind them. He couldn't imagine just what kind of opponent would be strong or fast enough to do that kind of damage.

Edric looked up and saw Farkas watching him, looking troubled. “What’s wrong?” Edric asked.

Farkas shook his head, giving Edric a tiny smile of reassurance. He supposed it didn't matter how old either of them were. Just as Kodlak had said, when you found love you had to take it, no matter where or when it came. Edric gazed into his eyes for a long moment, making Farkas’ heart start to beat more quickly. He didn't think the other man had ever held his gaze so long.

“What color were your eyes before?”

Farkas blinked in surprise at the question. “Uh…blue. Light blue. Me and Vilkas.” He then realized that if Edric joined the Circle and took the blood that his pretty green eyes would turn silver as well. The thought of that actually bothered him a little. He said with quiet regret, “I think Aela and Skjor want you to join the Circle. Become one of us, one of the pack.”

Edric sighed and nodded. “I gathered as much.” He picked at his food then looked sideways at Farkas, who was gazing at him anxiously. “Do _you_ think I should? Take the blood, I mean.”

“I don’t know,” Farkas admitted. “I mean…” He shook his head. “I can’t be…uh, what’s the damn word—”

“Objective?”

“Yeah, that.”

“How so?”

He leaned his elbow on the table and looked at his fingernails, just to have something to look at other than the object of his fixation. His face warming, he muttered, “If uh, if you let me, um, court you, and we end up, you know, together…if you took the blood we would end up…we would…bond. Mate permanently to each other. It’s…it’s what werewolves do. Werewolf couples. The pack structure here… it isn’t how most packs operate, from what Aela says. She says real packs are like families, a few mated pairs and their pups, uh, kids I mean. Aela, well, she’s really devoted to Hircine. She says that the bond, it’s one of Hircine’s gifts to us.” Aela didn’t want it for herself, and she had always been clear that it was risky sleeping with other werewolves, because if you connected too deeply you could end up with something permanent that neither partner had intended.

“Oh.” The sound was tiny, bewildered.

“That’s why we have to be careful during Aela’s seasons: she doesn’t want to bond to any of us, and none of us want to with her either, because we consider her a sister. The spring thing we do, I guess in a normal pack females stop going into season once they get a permanent mate, or at least it doesn’t happen quite the same way. I don’t know, it confuses the hell out of me, and the thought of being stuck with Aela forever…no thanks. But…with you, I uh, I wouldn’t be able to help it, and if you cared for me back you wouldn’t be able to help it either. It would just…happen.”

It was quiet for a while, so long it made Farkas nervous, and he was about to look up when Edric asked, “And then what?”

“Uh, well, we’d always be together. Even when we were apart. Aela knows a lot more about it than me, ‘cause she’s the pack’s lorekeeper. The females of the pack usually are. But I remember her telling me that she didn’t want to be tied to anyone else like that. Soul-tied. Able to feel their strong emotions, or when they get hurt, or…die.”

Edric looked astonished when Farkas finally glanced up at him. The younger man was staring at the fire, his eyes wide. Edric finally asked, “We’d be able to feel each other?” Farkas made a sound of assent. “All the time?”

“Well, we’d always have the feeling the other one was there. Never alone. But we’d only feel the really strong emotions from time to time. That’s what I gathered. You’ll have to ask Aela.” He looked a bit sheepish. "I uh, didn't pay attention to a lot of what she said. I didn't think it would ever matter." Not until Edric came long, and now Farkas wished he had listened to his pack sister.

“Never alone,” Edric whispered.

Farkas nodded and Edric made a sound of grief, and to Farkas’ sorrow he blinked as his eyes grew shiny. He knew Edric was lonely and had been for a year now. Maybe he had been before that too. Farkas still worried about what would happen in a couple weeks when the anniversary of the Battle of Solitude came around. Edric made another sound of unhappiness and picked up the bottle, draining it, then set it down hard and glared at the fire, his jaw clenched. Farkas didn’t say anything, letting him work out whatever he was thinking, but it didn’t seem good.

“I’d never be alone,” Edric finally said in a faint voice.

“Never,” Farkas said in agreement. “That’s why Aela hates the idea of it. She’s really solitary. Spent all that time alone out in the woods growing up with her dad, with no other kids or anyone around, except when they came into town to visit Gislun. But…I like the idea of it. It’s what I want, with uh…with you. That connection, always there. We’d never be lonely. We’d always have each other.” Edric didn’t answer, seeming wounded somehow as he stared at the firepit, but Farkas didn’t think he was the one who had wounded him.

Farkas let Edric wrestle with his thoughts for a few minutes, then he quietly ventured, “Maybe…you could spend your birthday with me, in a couple days?” He couldn't tolerate the thought of Edric spending it alone.

“I’d like that,” Edric murmured with a nod. He closed his eyes and let out a long breath, seeming to… Farkas couldn’t put it into words. It was like he was letting go of something. Edric then took in a deep breath, seeming decisive, and began to unbuckle his cuirass. Farkas helped him with the nearest side, wondering why Edric hadn’t taken it off already. Edric set the plates aside then reached for another bottle of mead, but he stopped himself halfway then pulled his hand back and looked at Farkas.

Farkas smiled at him in approval, and Edric tried to smile back but couldn’t seem to do it. “I don’t want to pressure you into choosing,” Farkas said, “but…I would take care of you. We could even get married someday and adopt some kids. I mean, we could do all that even if you didn’t take the blood. It was what I intended, but knowing everyone wants you in the Circle, if you took the blood, that would make it just that one step better. No matter where we went or how far apart we were, we’d always be together.” He caught himself and shook his head. “Sorry. I don’t want you to choose because of me. I said I wouldn’t pressure you and I meant it. I was just…explaining.”

“I know.”

“It’s just that…” Farkas trailed off as Edric stood up between them then turned sideways and lowered himself into Farkas’ lap. The Companion sat there in shock for a moment then put his arms around Edric’s waist, his heart pounding. Edric made a soft sound of grief and put his arms around Farkas’ neck, burying his face in Farkas’ hair, and Farkas closed his eyes and whined before he could stop the wolfish sound from slipping out. He held Edric tightly, the scents rising from him making it nearly impossible to think straight, spice and sweat and leather and blood, even a hint of Vilkas, probably from when Edric had to remove the arrow. The smell was rich and sweet and savory and musky and it was all Farkas could do to keep his hands where they were, though he couldn’t keep himself from hardening between them. Edric didn’t seem to care, because it would be damn near impossible not to notice.

Farkas gently rubbed Edric’s back when he heard the other man make another huffing sound of pain. “It’ll be okay,” Farkas whispered roughly. “I’ll take care of you no matter what, beastblood or not, I swear.” Edric didn’t respond other than to hold him tighter, and that was response enough. At least he was confident now that Edric had made his choice, right here tonight, and it made his heart sing. Edric was going to let Farkas court him. Edric was a man and knew what sitting in a man’s lap meant to that man. It wasn’t a trivial thing. Farkas wasn't sure what had made Edric decide and wasn't about to ask. He knew better than to question everything, a lesson his twin still hadn't learned, and maybe never would.

“Ah, Farkas, Farkas…”

Farkas sighed happily at the soft murmur and squeezed Edric, making him grunt before Farkas quickly loosened his grip a bit. He couldn’t believe how light and slender Edric was, nearly a hundred pounds lighter than Farkas, and it made him worry that he’d never be able to make love to Edric all the way without hurting him. Well, one thing at a time, and Edric’s littleness made him all the more sweet and enticing. And there was always the chance that Edric didn’t like to be on that end of things. Farkas liked to sometimes and wasn’t afraid to admit it, but not every guy did.

“I probably stink,” Edric murmured.

“No you don’t,” Farkas assured him.

Edric laughed slightly and said, “Well, you’re a wolf, and dogs like smelly things.”

Farkas laughed in response. Edric sighed and petted Farkas’ hair, making the Companion close his eyes in contentment. This was just how it should be to have a mate: sitting quietly by the fire in the evening petting each other. Farkas was so happy right now he could hardly stand it. He had been sure he'd have to wait another two weeks at least, and here he was holding the one he loved.

“You sure smell better than Vilkas did,” Farkas stated. “He’s never smelled like that before, not after just a couple days.”

“He took a fairly bad wound and thought he was dying. Probably just stress. He was pretty tense even before that happened.”

Farkas hesitated, hearing an odd tone to Edric’s voice. He asked, “Are you sure you two got along? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better about it?” He could just imagine them doing that. Vilkas had seemed like he wanted to say more, had seemed like he was hiding something. Edric sighed, and Farkas muttered, “You two argued, didn’t you.”

“We only bickered a few times. He got mad when I first had to use magic. Bandits had the road blocked near Redoran’s Retreat. I told him if he didn’t want me using magic at all then I wasn’t going to heal anyone anymore, because it’s all the same magic. Then…” He sighed heavily, putting his chin on Farkas’ shoulder. “I got mad and said some things I probably shouldn’t have. He started it but I made it worse. We didn’t talk the rest of the way there. Then he got mad when he realized my bow was enchanted, and said I couldn’t be a mage and have any honor, and I told him that even mages go to Sovngarde. Then we went inside and started arguing _again_ about magic. I told him I wasn’t about to let myself get crippled, and he started spouting off about honor again, and I told him _again_ that if he got hurt I wasn’t going to heal him unless he got off my back about using magic.”

Farkas grumbled. “I knew it.” He just knew that the two of them had tried to keep it from him. Tried to protect him. It was a little insulting.

Edric petted his hair and soothed, “It wasn’t as bad all around as you’d think. It was better than I thought it would be, actually.” He ran his fingers through the back of Farkas’ hair, making the Companion nearly purr with pleasure. Edric said in a sad, thoughtful tone, “It’s too bad, though. Every so often…I could see who Vilkas used to be. Or who he could be, if he was cured. He just barely starts to let his guard down then _bam,_ the walls go back up.”

“Yeah, I know,” Farkas murmured sadly. He was all too familiar with the problem. Vilkas had always had an intense temperament, but it had gotten an edge to it when he had taken the beastblood, and for the last nearly eighteen years Vilkas had been a bit standoffish, demanding, frequently irritable. He had also been deeply loyal, committed to the Companions and the pack, but only with Farkas had he ever let those walls all the way down.

“Even though we argued, it was okay. We ah, cleared the air on a couple things, I think. After I took that cut on my arm he stopped fussing as much about the magic. I think he realized that if I didn’t use it and got hurt that we would both be screwed. I could tell he was worried.” He sat up in Farkas’ lap, leaving his left arm around his neck. “Good thing you weren’t there though. There was a big frostbite—”

“Gah!”

“I know, it was awful.” He lowered his voice and admitted, “I hate frostbite spiders too. I really do.”

“You do?” It was amazing that someone like Edric was afraid of spiders, like Farkas was. Though admittedly Farkas' fear had to be worse; he couldn't tolerate even the smallest spider lurking about. He had stopped looking up at Jorrvaskr's rafters decades ago, unable to handle the thought of all the spiders that had to be lurking up there in the cobwebs. They just had to be.

“Mm-hm. I always fry them from a distance or use a bow so I don’t have to get near them.”

Farkas nodded, suddenly aware of how close Edric’s face was and the warmth of his bare arm around his neck. He then realized that unlike the scruffy Vilkas, Edric had come back from the job without a hint of beard on his face. Farkas lifted his hand, hesitating, then stroked his thumb along Edric’s cheek. It was like velvet. Like a girl’s. He then nodded, understanding. “You can’t grow a beard,” he murmured. Edric sighed and shook his head, though he didn’t pull away from the touch. Farkas wasn’t sure if it was just how Edric was or because of the healing this summer, though Farkas’ bet was on the healer; he could see hair on Edric’s arms and a hint of light chest hair coming out of the padded fur and leather vest that went under his armor. The softness of Edric’s face combined with his long hair and slender frame made him seem the most exquisite thing in the world. Farkas whispered, “How can you be so beautiful.”

Edric’s lips parted as his expression softened. “You really think so?”

“I know so. You’re so beautiful it’s painful. Like it…it hurts to look at you sometimes, you’re so handsome.” Edric sighed, gazing at Farkas with a melting look that made it nearly impossible not to lean forward and kiss him. “You probably heard that all the time from your man.”

“No, not…really.”

The sad expression as Edric lowered his eyes made Farkas huff. “Well, you should, because you are. He uh, he never told you?” Edric grimaced in pain, and Farkas opened his mouth to apologize when Edric put his fingertips on Farkas’ lips, shaking his head.

“No, it’s okay.” Edric's lips pursed then he said with quiet regret, “I told you he was straight, pretty much, but when I saw him I didn’t care. He was…like a summer’s day. Big and blond and blue-eyed. You just couldn’t get any more the typical Nord than him, and he was a Stormcloak, so…he was _really_ Nord, old-fashioned Nord. He thought it was cute, the way I chased after him." He gave a soft laugh, but it didn't reach his eyes. "He grew to love me, but I don’t think he ever…he never really _fell_ in love with me. And there’s a difference.” Farkas nodded. “It was a mistake on my part, I know that, but at the time…I saw something I wanted, and I didn’t care what I had to do to get it. But you can’t do that with people. It isn’t right.”

“But he still loved you,” Farkas stated. It really was impossible that the guy hadn’t loved Edric.

“Yeah, he did, I know he did, but…it didn’t reach all the way in. He never _told_ me. Sometimes when I told him he would say, ‘Aw, me too’ or…or…” Edric took in a shuddering breath and stopped, unable to go on.

Farkas clucked his tongue, his heart aching, and murmured, “Well I love you, and I did from the very start.” He’d fallen in love before, but this was different. It was _more,_ and he was no longer afraid to say it to Edric, or let him see it. He brushed loose hairs away from Edric’s forehead, a mix of snow white and honey brown. Edric gazed at him with a heartbroken expression, but he lifted his own hand and placed it on Farkas’ cheek. The hand was slightly rough, and warm. It was wonderful.

“I saw it when you gave me the hawk. It…it scared me but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. That maybe everything could be okay, if I just…gave myself more time.” He huffed unhappily. “And I didn’t want to. But the things you did and told me the other night…”

“When I acted like a dumb dog?” Farkas muttered. That had _not_ been his shining moment, and the memory of it still embarrassed him. He wasn't exactly eager for a repeat of it.

Edric shook his head, putting his other arm back around Farkas’ neck, his expression solemn. “No. What you did, it was…it was _real._ It was all you. It made me believe, and the rabbit, I knew what it meant before you ever told me.” He smiled hesitantly at him, playing with the back of Farkas’ dark hair. “I just hope you aren’t built the way you are in wolf form or my inability to heal may end up a real problem.” Farkas made a sound of embarrassment and Edric laughed.

“You’re shameless,” Farkas muttered in amazement. Edric laughed again, more fully, and his smile was so stunning that it took all Farkas’ willpower not to kiss him. Edric pecked him on the cheek then slid off his lap, leaving behind a swirl of scents and quickly dissipating warmth that left him feeling bereft. Edric had kissed him first though. Even if it had been the tiniest little peck, that didn’t matter.

Edric started gathering up his gear and Farkas moved to help him, glad he wasn’t still standing at attention. Though his beloved had felt nice in his lap, it had been hard to keep it up when he didn’t sense any desire from the other man and could see how sad he was.

“What do you want to do on my birthday?” Edric asked.

“Oh. Uh, I don’t know. Whatever you want. It’s your birthday.”

“I was thinking…I have something I need to do for Danica, in Eastmarch. Something I promised her the other day when we were talking in the temple. There’s a cave in the volcanic tundra, where all those hot springs are just north of Darkwater Crossing, that might hold a cure for the Gildergreen.”

“No shit,” Farkas said in amazement. He hadn’t thought that the dead old tree had any hope of coming back at all. “So you want to go there?”

“Well, not for my birthday specifically, but the area around there is nice. Lots of hot springs. We could camp there for a few days. Get away from here for a while, just you and me.”

Farkas made a smothered _ngh_ sound at the thought, not sure he was reading the situation right, but when Edric glanced at him from underneath his lashes and smiled shyly he realized the other man really did mean what Farkas thought he meant. Edric. Camp. Hot springs. Just the two of them. For days. Ah gods.

“Okay,” Farkas whispered, the sound coming out in a croak. “When…uh, do you want…to go?”

“Day after tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Farkas agreed, trying not to pant the word. Edric smiled warmly at him, his cheeks flushed in the low light, then he lowered his eyes and hoisted his pack and sword while Farkas picked up the axe and the cuirass. His eyes lit on the bandage and he asked, “You’re sure your arm is okay?”

“Yeah, just a scratch. Vilkas did a good job cleaning it up and wrapping it. I heal pretty quickly even without magic. I’ll be fine.”

They headed to the stairs and saw Vilkas coming up, freshly bathed and empty plate in hand, and Edric nodded to him while Vilkas grunted. The way the two avoided each other’s eyes worried Farkas, but Vilkas grunted at him too and wouldn’t look at him when he greeted him so he let the matter go. He quietly set Edric’s things by his bed, trying not to disturb the others, and settled for a quick pet of Edric’s hair before leaving for his own room.

He locked his door, wary of Vilkas’ mood and not wanting him to just bust in, considering Farkas had to deal with certain things before he could get any sleep. It came easily, the memory of a warm, good-smelling, slender body in his lap all the help he needed. Farkas fell asleep content. Everything was going to be great from here on out. Tomorrow Edric would become a full-fledged Companion, a true shield-brother, and in a couple days Edric would become his lover and he could start courting him properly. Some day Edric might even take the beastblood and they would form a bond, and Kodlak might find a cure and they could get Vilkas taken care of, and everything would be fine then. He was sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if this is easier to read. I went through and broke up the paragraphs further, to make it easier to tell who is talking, since this story is so dialogue-heavy. While all the thoughts and inner commentary in each chapter belong to either Farkas or Vilkas, I can see how it was a bit confusing before. Hopefully it's better now. Thank you Baratron for the suggestion. ♥
> 
> The Circle in this story are more wolfish than in my last story, and I'm trying to convey the feeling of werewolves in general having more of a 'culture'. While there may be rogue, feral werewolves roaming about the countryside, I prefer the notion that they naturally form family groups (packs), both for company and protection, as both people and wolves do, with practices and behaviors that are a mix of the two. The Circle in this story hasn't followed much of that however due to being in the heart of a city and part of a mercenary guild. I don't want to over-explain it at this point, just sort of a disclaimer. Other writers have delved into such matters much more skillfully than I can, or will.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has been reading along.


	15. Chapter 15

** Farkas – 2nd of Frostfall, 4E205 **

Farkas and Vilkas stayed kneeling on either side of Kodlak as Aela and Skjor came into the Harbinger’s sitting room with Edric between them. The old man’s breathing was raspy, labored, painful to listen to. Kodlak smiled proudly at Edric, who smiled back briefly, looking somewhat nervous. Farkas found it cute that his intended was even able to get nervous. The other junior members of the Companions gathered just inside the doors to witness the event; Ria looked happy, though maybe it was mostly because she wouldn’t be the newest whelp anymore, Athis and Njada looked neutral, but Torvar scowled, his arms folded, glaring at Edric’s back. It made Farkas’ blood boil, and he did his best to keep it off his face and turn his gaze away from the blond.

Kodlak’s grasp on his shoulder caught his attention, and he and his brother helped Kodlak stand, keeping their hands below his elbows to keep him upright. “Brothers and sisters,” Kodlak rasped weakly, “today we welcome a new soul into our mortal fold. This young man has endured, has challenged, and has shown his valor.” He looked around the Circle. “Who will speak for him?”

Vilkas hesitated, glancing at Edric, and for a few seconds Farkas feared his brother wouldn’t do it, that he would let his moodiness get the better of him and refuse to sponsor Edric. Kodlak probably feared that as well, from how tense he suddenly grew. Surely Vilkas wouldn't do that. He had been in a tolerable mood last night after his return and hadn't hesitated to praise Edric, or at least for Vilkas it had been praise. How his mood could shift so suddenly overnight was baffling, but then it could shift within minutes, so maybe it wasn't so surprising. Regardless, it was upsetting, and if Vilkas wouldn't sponsor Edric then the young man would have to go on another Trial, with a different member of the Circle.

Vilkas finally muttered, “I will stand witness.”

Kodlak relaxed and asked, “Would you raise your shield in his defense?”

“Aye.”

Farkas frowned, seeing Kodlak do so as well, as did Aela and Skjor. There was more to the ritual words, much more. Vilkas was answering, but only enough to answer. It felt like he was cheating Edric of his moment. Edric seemed unaware of what was going on, his eyes on Kodlak. Ria and Athis glanced at each other while Njada's eyes narrowed, but Torvar was smirking slightly. Smugly.

The Harbinger cleared his throat and went on, “And would you raise your sword in his honor?”

“Aye.”

Kodlak grumbled then asked in irritation, “And would you raise a mug in his name?”

“Aye.”

The word was practically spit out. Skjor seemed furious, single eye burning with anger, and Aela was looking at Vilkas like he was out of his mind. Farkas couldn’t figure out why the hell Vilkas had agreed to sponsor Edric if he was going to ruin the ceremony by basically giving lip service to it. Vilkas knew the history and traditions of the Companions as well as old Vignar did, and here he was ruining the induction ceremony.

“Are all of the Circle in agreement?” Five ayes answered the Harbinger. “Then the judgment of the Circle is complete. His heart beats with the fury and courage that have united the Companions since the days of the distant green summers of Atmora. Let it beat with ours, that the mountains may echo and our enemies may tremble at the call.”

“It shall be so,” the Circle intoned.

Kodlak let go of Vilkas to hold out his hand to Edric, who came and took it. Kodlak weakly embraced him, murmuring, “Well son, you’re one of us now. I know you will not disappoint.” There was relief in the old man’s voice. Edric whispered something in the old man’s ear, so softly even Farkas couldn’t understand it, and Kodlak squeezed his eyes shut and held him close. He patted Edric on the back then let go, his silver eyes shining, and Edric leaned up and kissed him on either cheek. Kodlak called to the whelps, “We will feast tonight in honor of our new shield-brother.” The junior members nodded and turned away, and Kodlak squeezed Edric’s shoulder and nodded for him to follow the others. As the twins gently lowered him back into his seat he said to Aela, “Close the doors.”

Once it was shut the Huntress said heatedly to Vilkas, “You make a mockery of our rituals!”

Skjor added in disgust, “Why in Oblivion did you even bother, Vilkas? I can only be glad the newblood didn’t realize it was supposed to go any other way.”

Kodlak muttered, “He did realize. He was just too gracious to show it and make matters worse.” He growled at Vilkas, “You have cheated a shield-brother of his just dues.”

Vilkas glared at nothing in particular, his jaw clenched, and when Farkas didn’t say anything Vilkas spat at his twin, “Well, aren’t you going to come to your little darling’s defense?”

Farkas made a sound of mixed hurt and confusion and anger as he answered, “Edric doesn’t need me to defend him, ‘cause he isn’t being attacked. And neither are you, which you’d realize if you ever pulled our head out of your ass.”

“He is a fucking mage!” Vilkas shouted.

“He’s a spellsword,” Skjor corrected in crisp tones. “I fought alongside plenty of spellswords and battlemages while in the Legion, and in the years after that. It is not a dishonorable path.”

“It is not our path!”

Farkas protested, “Would you rather have him dead? He said you two worked all that out!”

“Well maybe I changed my mind!”

Aela sneered, “Not a difficult thing to do when it’s that unstable.” Vilkas growled at her, his teeth bared. “I saw the wound on his arm. I also saw the hole in your armor when you took it up to Eorlund this morning, and smelled your blood, so I talked to the whelp about what happened in Dustman’s Cairn. I suppose it’s fine and dandy for him to use magic to save you but not to protect himself?”

Vilkas put his hands to his head and yelled, “What in Oblivion is wrong with all of you? We have never allowed magic—”

“That is not true,” Kodlak stated. Vilkas blinked, staring at him in disbelief. Farkas, Aela and Skjor looked astonished as well. Kodlak sighed, “In delving into our histories over the last year and a half, I have found things that…were not easy to come to terms with. Beyond what I found out about the Circle’s curse. This has always been a warrior band, for over four thousand years, however it wasn’t until after the Oblivion crisis that the Companions, and Nords in general, began to shun magic. We Nords have never been magically strong as a race, but we did not always fear and distrust magic as we do now. Edric has verified this from his studies at the College, and...other places. I am not comfortable around the Clever Craft, but that is my own problem, a lack of familiarity.” He narrowed his eyes at Vilkas and went on, “You told me this morning that he was honorable in his use of it. You told me it had been necessary to save both your lives.”

“The Companions used to use magic,” Vilkas said in a tone of betrayal.

“Not as a whole, no, but until two hundred years ago there were always one or two members who could wield battle magic, in addition to being warriors. There was always at least one who could heal and at least one who knew alchemy. We were stronger than we are now, once upon a time. Vignar has told me this more times than I can count. His grandfather, and Eorlund’s, was both master smith and a Companion here and told him tales that were never written down on paper. Go ask him if we once had shield-siblings who were able to wield magic and he will tell you the uncomfortable truth. And it is an uncomfortable one, I do not deny that.”

Kodlak began to cough, and Farkas knelt by him to hold him up while Vilkas stared blankly at nothing. Farkas was just as stunned by the revelation as any of his shield-siblings. It was a relief to hear though, in a way. It meant if Edric occasionally had to use magic to keep safe then he would get less grief about it. Farkas could get used to it. He supposed he _had_ to get used to it, if he and Edric were going to be together. He loved Edric and that meant accepting the whole package, magic and all.

Aela murmured, “I…had no idea.”

Skjor quietly said, “It isn’t something most Companions are going to accept easily. I can manage it because I’ve seen firsthand how magic can be used honorably. No one would be asked to practice anything that goes against their beliefs, but I won't have the whelp harassed for using magic to keep his skin intact.” He looked at Vilkas and continued in a wary tone, “Edric is our shield-brother now. You vouched for his honor with Kodlak. If you cannot be trusted to stick to your own statements…”

Aela flatly asked, “Did he behave honorably or not?”

Vilkas’ jaw clenched then he spat, “He did.”

“Then what the hell is the problem?” Vilkas’ eyes slowly moved over to Farkas, and Aela rolled her eyes as she said in exasperation, “Not this again!”

“Vilkas,” Farkas growled in warning. If his twin went there in front everyone Farkas was going to let him have it. He was going to let Vilkas have it and there would be no going back. He didn’t want that to happen. Not now, not ever. He hoped to the Nine that Vilkas didn’t push him that far. Unlike Vilkas, it took a lot to make Farkas truly angry, and unlike Vilkas when he got truly angry he didn’t snap out of it quickly.

Skjor stated firmly, “We aren’t going there. Every man and woman here is their own. This is not even up for discussion. It is _no_ one’s business other than those involved, and like it or not Vilkas you are _not_ involved.”

“And who the hell are you to say who is involved or not!” Vilkas said angrily.

“As of today, he is our new Harbinger,” Kodlak stated. Aela gasped as Farkas went still and Vilkas stiffened in shock. “My health is such that I can no longer fulfill my role here. I will make it official tonight. The feast will celebrate both Edric’s and Skjor’s promotions.” He coughed lightly then rasped, “I will not make it to the end of the year. I will spend the time I have left finding a cure for our lycanthropy.” He looked at Vilkas. “I had hoped to seek your help and advice, but now I have to wonder if I should.” Vilkas lowered his eyes, his lips pursed, but he looked chastened. “Stay, after the others leave, and we will talk.”

“Aye, Har— Kodlak,” Vilkas murmured.

Farkas helped his brother return Kodlak to his bed, the old man shaking with exhaustion. Vilkas and Skjor stayed behind, closing the door, and Farkas found Aela already gone. He went to his room and grabbed his sword, cloak and a bag of coins, determined to get out of Jorrvaskr while the getting was good. When he went upstairs he saw Tilma in the kitchen area preparing for the evening’s feast, the familiar cozy scene of his foster mother puttering around the kitchen warming his heart. He went to her and kissed her cheek. “Where is everybody?” he asked.

“The young ones are out back,” she stated. “Going down to the market, dear?”

“Aye,” he said with a nod. “It’s Edric’s birthday on the 4th. I want to find him a present.”

“Isn’t that nice. Pick up a few things for me while you’re down there, would you?” She dug into the little pouch on her belt. “We’re nearly out of salt. And I’m running low on elves' ear. That always makes the roast taste extra nice. Oh, and juniper berries. Kodlak likes it stuffed in grouse. Maybe it will tempt him to eat something.”

“Aye,” Farkas agreed. “Salt, elves' ear, juniper berries. Got it.” He couldn’t read but he never forgot anything important. Tilma handed him twenty septims and sent him on his way.

He headed down to Belethor’s shop first. He liked the sleazy little Breton about as much as anyone else did, but the man always had good stock, and sometimes unusual things. His assistant Sigurd was behind the counter when Farkas went in, and when Farkas greeted him Belethor came running out, wiping the corners of his mouth. “Companion!” he said in greeting. He shooed Sigurd away and the young Nord sighed and went back to sweeping, muttering under his breath about being under-appreciated. The Breton leaned on the counter and asked, “So good sir, what can I do for you this fine day?”

Farkas didn’t consider it particularly fine, considering it was raining like a cow pissing on a flat rock, but he refrained from saying so. “I need a birthday present. For my, uh…friend.”

“Ah hah,” Belethor said with interest. “Is this a friend-friend, or a _good_ friend?”

Farkas glared at him for a moment then muttered, “Good friend.” Gods, he should've known that he wasn't going to get this done easily. Belethor was nosier than an old woman.

“Well well, which lucky lady finally managed to catch your eye?”

“It isn’t a lady.”

Belethor blinked in surprise then glanced at Sigurd, who was so busy muttering to himself and sweeping that he didn’t seem to have heard. The Breton raised an eyebrow and beckoned Farkas closer. The Companion wrinkled his nose and leaned his elbows on the counter. Belethor murmured, “So is he a man’s man, or...?”

“Kinda in-between. Depends.” And Farkas loved that about him. Edric was definitely masculine, and no one could doubt how tough and strong he was, but he was so pretty and small and moved so gracefully and had such long hair that sometimes he seemed a little bit like a girl, and every so often he had a coy or flirty way about him that was kind of feminine. It just made him all the more beautiful. Edric was what he was and didn’t have to be any one thing.

“Well, let’s see what we have here then,” Belethor said thoughtfully. He bent down behind his counter, humming to himself. “Tell me a little bit about him.”

“Do I have to?” Farkas whined.

“I need some ideas here.”

Farkas grumbled. “Okay, well…he’s really handsome. Has really, really long hair—” Belethor popped up like a rabbit. Farkas stared at him for a moment and the Breton stared back. “Uh…he’s small, like you, well, not quite as small, but he’s a Nord. A warrior.”

“Do tell,” Belethor murmured with interest. “Is it that new fella in town? The new Companion?”

“M-maybe.” Farkas could feel his cheeks were just about on fire.

“My my.” Farkas’ eyes narrowed, and Belethor put his hands up. “No offense. I don’t go that way, frankly, but even I can see what he’s got going on.” He snapped his fingers as his eyes lit up, then he went back down behind the counter and began rummaging around. “I’ve got just the thing. Been sitting here collecting dust like my maiden aunt’s womanhood since Ysolda got it from the cats three, four years back. Seems they’ve got a thing for mammoth ivory, crazy about the stuff. I bought this set from Ysolda as an investment; Jarl Balgruuf’s daughter was coming up on her debut and he told me to keep an eye out for something unusual for her. Of course we all know how that worked out.” Belethor stood with a narrow wood box in his hands. It looked to be dark walnut and had a brass catch on it and was thickly coated with dust just as he’d said.

He blew it off then slid it across the counter to Farkas, who looked at Belethor suspiciously when the Breton raised an eyebrow. He hoped to Dibella it wasn’t anything inappropriate, though he supposed if it was a gift for a young girl it wouldn’t be. Farkas undid the latch then lifted the lid. “Wow,” he breathed.

“What did I tell you, eh?” Belethor said in satisfaction.

“Yeah.” Inside the box on a bed of blue velvet was an ivory comb, the handle and the curve of the top intricately engraved with flowers and birds on both sides. It was the most breathtaking thing Farkas had ever seen. The Khajiit had nimble fingers, but Farkas couldn't guess how even they had carved something so detailed. Farkas had never seen anything like it.

“And then, the _real_ treasure…” Belethor lifted the layer of velvet under the comb, and set into a velvet-lined hollow in the bottom was a round circle of ivory carved with matching decorations. Belethor reached in and took out the circle, which had a flat side and a convex one and was about four inches in diameter. He used this thumbnail to undo the gold catch then slowly opened it, watching Farkas’ face for a reaction.

Farkas couldn’t speak. Inside the compact was a glass mirror that was so utterly flawless, the reflection so perfect, that it was almost a little scary, as if it was magic at work. Farkas had heard of such mirrors, crafted in Hammerfell of special white sands, so rare that they were only owned by nobles or wealthy merchants, but they were usually bigger than this. He grimaced in dread then whispered, “How much?”

“I was going to charge Balgruuf twelve hundred—” Farkas deflated. “However, I’d be willing to part with it for seven fifty.”

“Five hundred.”

Belethor rolled his eyes then put the ivory compact back in the velvet-lined case. “Look,” the Breton said in a kindly tone, “I consider you a friend—”

“No you don’t, and I don’t consider you one either. Cut the crap.”

“Six hundred,” Belethor stated flatly. “That’s half price. And I’m only going that low because it’s a specialty item that I’m never going to sell unless I take it up to Solitude, and I’d have to hire you goons to guard me on the way there.” He smirked at the bigger man. “And I’m a sucker for a love story.”

“Six hundred,” Farkas sighed in agreement. By Zenithar that was fucking _expensive_. He’d never paid that much for anything. He had to have it though. Edric would love it, he just knew it. “I’ve got two hundred with me. I’ll be back in half an hour with the rest.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal. I’ll get it dusted off and the case polished up.”

“I want it wrapped in something nice too at that price.”

“I think I’ve got some silk remnants around here somewhere, if you’re not picky about the color.”

“Deal.” Farkas set down the entire bag of coin that he’d brought with him then walked out of the shop. There was no way in hell he was going to tell Vilkas what he had just done. His brother would throw a fit and Farkas would never hear the end of it. It was actually rather surprising that Vilkas had never expected him to hand over his earnings for the ‘smarter’ twin to manage. It wasn’t that Farkas couldn’t afford the comb and mirror. He never spent his money on much and had a decent amount saved up. It was the idea of spending this much money on one single thing. It was worth it though. Edric was worth it.

He went to Arcadia’s shop for the salt and spices Tilma was looking for, making small talk while she put everything together, then he was on his way again. Tilma wasn’t in the kitchen, where the smell of baking bread made his stomach growl. He set her sack and the leftover coin on the flour-dusted work table there and hurried downstairs, somehow managing to not run into anyone. Vilkas’ door was closed and he was punching the training dummy in his room, something he was doing with an increasing frequency that worried Farkas. He opened the chest in his room, which was now stripped of anything related to drinking other than the bar, and counted out four hundred septims into four bags of a hundred each. He dumped out his pack and put it inside and was able to get out of Jorrvaskr without speaking to a soul.

When he reached Belethor’s the merchant had the walnut case dusted and polished with sweet-smelling oil and wrapped in a square of rough yellow silk and tied with a dark blue ribbon. “Nice,” Farkas said with a nod as he handed over the money.

“And nice doing business with you, Companion,” Belethor said as he gleefully picked up the gold then shook Farkas’ hand. “Make sure to come back around and let me know how he liked it.”

“Yeah, sure.” Like hell he would. He stowed the present in his pack and left without another word. While he didn’t think the Breton would talk, he wasn’t about to give him any fodder for rumors. People would find out soon enough on their own. If the trip went as planned then there would definitely be no hiding the relationship after that.

 _Relationship,_ Farkas thought happily as he passed the dead Gildergreen. He was going to have a real relationship. A real…lover, boyfriend, partner, whatever people called it. Edric would be his, and he would be Edric’s, and he’d be more than happy to let anyone know it. He’d be proud. Anyone would be to have a man like that at their side. Edric was a prize, something to be treasured and taken care of, and Farkas was going to do it, and anyone who gave him a hard time about it was going to get his fist.

** Farkas – 3rd of Frostfall, 4E205 **

“This is exciting,” Edric said with a grin as they left the Temple of Kynareth.

“Yeah,” Farkas agreed. Exciting was exactly the word he would use for it. He had the gift stowed safely and securely in the middle of his pack, along with the usual supplies for any trip, and a little something extra he took with him when he did a job on his own and thought he might get lucky. He wasn’t expecting to get _that_ lucky with Edric so soon, but you never knew. Edric had seemed in a good mood since his induction ceremony and feast, which Vilkas of course had skipped, though Kodlak had managed to sit upstairs for a few minutes after being carried up by Farkas, long enough to give a short speech and hand his position over to Skjor. Farkas could tell Aela was upset seeing the old man like that, frail and childlike, wrapped in blankets, barely more than skin and bones. Skjor had been upset too, though only someone who had known him for years would be able to tell. Skjor and Kodlak had been shield-brothers for decades, had fought battles together that were still the stuff of bards' tales. It had to hurt Skjor especially to see someone who had once been so powerful reduced to a shadow of himself.

While it was sad, Farkas thought Skjor would make a good Harbinger. He was strong and honorable and viewed the Circle as family even more than Kodlak had. Probably because he wasn’t about to let the pack fall apart, and pack was family. Farkas loved Kodlak dearly, but it was hard to want to follow his path when he was dying and Vilkas was going crazy.

As they went down the stairs from the Wind District, Farkas felt his heart go into his throat when he saw Vilkas pacing in circles around the town well. The citizens and even the guards were giving him a wide berth. He was wearing regular clothing, his armor still with Eorlund for repairs. When he saw Farkas and Edric together his lip curled upwards in a sneer that alternately enraged and terrified Farkas. _Not here!_ he thought in a panic. He saw Vilkas’ thumb rubbing along the band of the wolf ring. Then Edric quickened his pace to walk ahead of Farkas towards the well and he felt like he was watching a disaster unfold.

“Well, if it isn’t the two little lovebirds,” Vilkas said in disgust. Edric walked up to him and Farkas hurried to keep close, his heart pounding. “Get the fuck away from me,” Vilkas hissed as Edric got in front of him, putting his hands on his hips as he looked up at the taller Companion.

“What did I tell you in Redoran’s Retreat, brother?” Edric murmured.

“Don’t threaten me. Don’t you ever threaten me, you little shit!”

Farkas put his hand on Edric’s shoulder and said to Vilkas in a pain-filled voice, “Why are you doing this, Vilkas? Just go home.”

“Not without you. You get rid of _that,”_ he said, pointing at Edric, “and you follow me home, and we’re going to take the next wagon to Falkreath and visit Narri.”

“Come on,” Farkas groaned. “Just give it a rest.”

Edric asked Vilkas, “You really think you’re in any kind of state to visit—” Farkas’ grip tightened on his shoulder and he bit his lip and fell silent.

“We had an agreement!” Vilkas hissed at his twin.

“We made that agreement almost twenty years ago,” Farkas said unhappily. “It isn’t… I’m not…” He grimaced against the nauseating flutter in his stomach and whispered, “I don’t really like girls, Vilkas. I never have.”

“Funny how that was never an issue before he came along!”

“Because before…before was different, and it was always your idea, never mine. I did it because it was easy and it made you happy. I can’t keep doing it. I can’t marry a woman. Mara would know it wasn’t honest—”

Vilkas shouted, “Fuck Mara!”

Everyone in the marketplace gasped, and Carlotta put her hands over Mila’s ears, the young girl’s mouth hanging open. Farkas stared at Vilkas in horror, feeling Edric standing stiff under his hand. No one had heard most of the previous conversation, but there was no missing that. This was pretty much the worst encounter Farkas had ever had. He could feel everyone's eyes on the three of them and his face starting to burn in response.

Vilkas pointed at Edric again, saying, “Do you know what he told me? He said if he thought I was a danger to the public that he would put me down like a rabid dog. He said he would _execute_ me. He threatened to murder your twin brother, Farkas. How does that sit with you?”

Farkas looked down at Edric, who was staring coldly at Vilkas, a look on his face unlike anything Farkas had seen on him before. “Did you?” Farkas asked in dismay.

“We were arguing,” Edric quietly said, his eyes never leaving Vilkas. “What I threatened was _not_ murder. It was warning a semi-feral werewolf that if he turned in public I would be forced to deal with him.” His green eyes narrowed as he said to Vilkas, “But maybe I wouldn’t have to kill you. Maybe I should just tackle you right here and now and shove a silver wire under your skin and haul your ass back to Jorrvaskr for Aela and Skjor to deal with.”

Vilkas shuddered as he went pale and his eyes widened, and Farkas whispered in horror, “Shit, Edric!” The level of coldness and danger emanating from his beloved was frightening and more than a little upsetting. Farkas hadn’t really thought about how to keep Vilkas from turning if he was determined to without hurting him, but that would do it. It would burn, but it wouldn’t really hurt him, and it would be enough to keep him in human form. But how the hell would they explain everything to the guards? Dealing with Vilkas in public could cause people to start asking ugly questions and expose the Circle and blow everything to Oblivion.

“I protected you,” Edric said to Vilkas, as if Farkas hadn’t even spoken. “I saved both your lives with no ulterior motive and this is the thanks I get from you. I’ve done nothing but try to get along, try to make the old man happy, and all you see is yourself. What _you_ want, what _you_ can’t have. You’re pathetic.”

Vilkas hissed at him, “I hate you. I fucking hate you.”

“I’m sure you do right now.”

Vilkas turned his gaze on his brother. “This is not over. Go on ahead to wherever you two are going and fuck each other’s brains out, but this is _not_ over.”

“Yes it is,” Edric stated, turning on his heel and striding away, his shoulders tense.

Farkas watched him go for a moment then looked at Vilkas again, seeing him rubbing the ring. Farkas said in a hurt voice, “If you turn in public…I can’t save you.”

“I don’t need you to save me,” Vilkas stated. “I need you to keep your word!”

“I can’t. I won’t marry Narri or any other girl. I can’t believe you care that little for me, that you’d force me into something I don’t want.”

“You don’t know what you want.”

Vilkas walked away, going up the steps to the Wind District, and Farkas watched him go, anger warring with anguish. Kodlak’s warning that someday Farkas might be able to hate his brother came back to him, and for the first time he realized it could very well be possible someday. Vilkas had embarrassed both Farkas and Edric in the heart of town, had embarrassed the Companions as well. Farkas wasn’t really sure what Vilkas was capable of anymore. The way he kept rubbing that ring had Farkas nervous as hell. It was like Vilkas was itching to take it off. Suddenly Aela’s idea to force Vilkas into changing didn’t seem all that bad an idea. Farkas was going to have to talk to the other two when he got home and maybe even include Edric.

It was upsetting though to hear that Edric had threatened Vilkas like that. Maybe they had been arguing and tempers were high, but Edric had meant it. Edric always meant what he said. There was something cold and frightening inside the smaller man, something Farkas couldn’t grasp. But maybe that was what was needed in this situation, someone who could be cold, who could be objective about Vilkas. Farkas couldn’t be; Vilkas was his other half. Even Skjor and Aela had trouble thinking clearly about the matter, due to pack ties. And Aela’s temper.

As his brother disappeared from view Farkas sighed heavily, trying not to look at the still-silent people around him who were no doubt still gaping. He went after Edric, finding him down the street, staring at Breezehome of all things. He didn’t seem angry anymore, though he looked sad.

When Farkas joined him, Edric sighed heavily and muttered, “Maybe I could’ve handled that a little better.”

“It’s hard for anyone to handle Vilkas well,” Farkas admitted.

“He’s dangerous, Farkas. You saw him touching the ring, right?”

Farkas sighed miserably. “Yeah.”

“If he turns in town he’ll kill people.” Farkas grimaced, and Edric looked up at him and said, “I told you where I got the ring. They were keeping Sinding in a wet, nasty cell. An old well. People would come in to stare at him, to spit at him and throw rotten food at him, taunt him, call him names… If Vilkas turns and I kill him, it will be a kindness.”

Farkas shook his head, unable to tolerate talking about this anymore. He loved his brother too much to even think about it.

“Okay,” Edric murmured. He motioned to Breezehome and said, “No one ever bought that house?”

“Nah. Balgruuf offered it to the Dragonborn but he didn’t want it. Just took Lydia and left and hardly ever came back.” He patted Edric on the shoulder and they headed towards the gates. “Vilkas was really upset when we heard Lydia died. Well, we all were, but he kind of had a thing for her. She didn’t like him that way though.”

Edric muttered, “I’m sure she didn’t.”

As they reached the gates the guards nodded to Farkas, then one motioned to Edric and said, “Hey, you’re that new member of the Companions, right?”

“Sure am,” Edric said with a nod.

“So you, what, fetch their mead?” The other guard snickered at that. Edric stopped and stared at the guy.

“If they ask nice,” Edric said in a tone of quiet menace. “I’ll even fetch a bottle for you. Then I’ll bend you over and shove it so far up your—”

“All right,” Farkas cut in, grabbing Edric’s shoulder again and steering him away from the guards, who seemed to find the whole thing hilarious.

“Fucking smartasses,” he said in annoyance. “Everywhere I go in this goddamn country. I’ve never had this problem anywhere but Skyrim. It’s like they don’t take their jobs seriously.”

“Sure they do. It’s just their way of passing the time, that’s all.”

They passed through the gates and Edric grumbled in annoyance. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s just this thing with Vilkas has got me all worked up. I hope to hell Aela and Skjor keep an eye on him while we’re gone.”

“They will.” Edric blew out a breath, trying to let it go, and Farkas had to as well. He didn’t want to think about Vilkas while they were gone. He wanted this to be about just him and Edric and no one else. He wanted this first trip with his beloved to be happy. It would just figure if Vilkas found some way to ruin it without even being there. Well Farkas wasn't going to let it happen. No way. As much as it hurt, Vilkas was just going to have to cease to exist from this moment forward until they returned to Whiterun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I picture the ivory comb that Farkas bought for Edric looking quite a bit like this, but with a handle:  
> http://www.creative-museum.com/en/content/japanese-ivory-comb-3-0  
> Making flat, clear mirrors on our world is a fairly recent invention, but I figure if the Dwemer can invent steam engines anything is possible, and Hammerfell has a lot of sand, so I imagine the Redguards could easily be master glassworkers.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love is in the air over the tundra of Eastmarch...♥

** Farkas – 4th of Frostfall, 4E205 **

Farkas blinked blearily, still half-asleep, enjoying the sweet warmth against his back and the arm thrown over him. They were camped just across the bridge from Darkwater Crossing, having made good time considering the terrain, but the roads were kept up and the horses sturdy and sure-footed. They hadn’t run into any trouble; Valtheim Towers had been empty of bandits, and Fort Amol was undergoing repairs by Stormcloak soliders.

He and Edric had been able to ride easily, talking, though Farkas found himself running into Edric’s reluctance to address certain aspects of his past more and more often. It was frustrating, wondering what his love was hiding, and why. Edric swore he wasn’t wanted by anyone but the Empire, and Farkas believed that, Skyrim flush with Nord former Legionnaires who were technically traitors to the Empire. But there was more to Edric than that. Farkas was well aware of his mental limitations, but something about Edric kept nagging at him. It wasn’t anything bad, really, but he had the feeling that when he finally figured it all out that it was going to hit him like a mammoth had been dropped on his head.

“Ray…”

Farkas frowned at the soft whimper behind him. He felt Edric’s hand clutch at his shirt.

_“...saraan fah zey ko Sovngarde.”_

Farkas gently dislodged Edric’s arm and rolled over, waking the other man, and to his dismay Edric had been crying in his sleep. Edric squinted at him in confusion with wet eyes, as if expecting to see someone else. Well Farkas was confused too. He hadn’t understood a word of what Edric had said. As if he’d been speaking a different language. And that talk about Sovngarde…no one wanted to hear their beloved talk in their sleep about the land of the dead. It was considered a bad omen. Farkas wondered if Edric had been dreaming about his dead man.

Edric’s expression crumpled, and Farkas whispered “Hey, hey,” and pulled him close, tucking Edric’s head under his chin. He pillowed his head on his right arm and put his left around the smaller man, who shuddered and began to weep. Farkas clucked his tongue, his chest aching, trying to see this as a good thing. It was a shitty way for anyone to start their birthday, but at least Edric was letting out his grief. There had been a tension in him all along about it, as if he’d been sitting on it all this time, trying to keep it contained. Like he was afraid of what would happen if he let it out. This was sad, but Farkas was determined to see it as a positive, and flattering. Edric was crying like this because he trusted Farkas. He was sure that sleeping at someone’s side all night for the first time in a year was part of it too.

Farkas kissed the top of Edric’s head, smelling spice, and murmured, “My poor sweetheart.” The endearment only seemed to make Edric cry harder, in huge wracking sobs that sounded like they were ripping themselves out of him. It made it impossible for Farkas to keep his own eyes dry. It was the saddest sound he had ever heard, other than the day he had heard the Dragonborn screaming on top of the mountain, after coming back from Sovngarde, where he had seen his dead husband. Farkas wondered if the Dragonborn had seen Edric’s dead love there too. Wondered if Edric had known the Dragonborn, since they had both been Stormcloaks, both Legionnaires, had even both been to Solstheim. They sure seemed to have a lot…in…common…

Swallowing hard, Farkas felt realization start creeping into him. Sure, he was kind of dumb sometimes, but he wasn’t an idiot. Those strange words just now sounded like the weird language the Dragonborn had spoken with that red dragon he’d captured. Ray…that could be short for Ralof, a nickname maybe. Edric’s man had died in the Battle of Solitude just like the Dragonborn’s husband. Edric was short for a Nord, like the Dragonborn. His speech followed the same patterns and his voice had the same boyish pitch, though without the thu’um in it. Edric was uncommonly skilled for a common adventurer, and no one had ever heard of him before; he had seemed to appear out of nowhere after the Dragonborn had returned to High Hrothgar for good. Edric’s tales made it sound like he had been all over Cyrodiil, Skyrim and Solstheim and yet he had no known reputation, which was just impossible. Edric’s left shoulder hurt sometimes, and the Dragonborn’s left side had been smashed up. Edric’s right cheek was scarred, and Vilkas had said the right side of the Dragonborn’s face had been destroyed; there was also a scar across the bridge of his nose, running towards his right eye, which the Dragonborn had lost to Alduin’s tail. Edric had seen a healer this summer for bad wounds he had taken at the end of the war, but he had never said he took the injuries _in_ the war.

And then there was Kodlak, who had some kind of connection to Edric, as if he knew him from somewhere. Skjor acted kind of like that too. Both old men knew exactly who Edric was, as they had stated at the last meeting of the Circle in the Underforge. Both were determined to get Edric into the Circle, knowing Edric was someone important.

Farkas took a deep breath, his eyes wide, and that smell filled his nose again. Farkas had been with a lot of men, and quite a few women, and even a couple elves he was embarrassed to admit, and no race he had ever been with had smelled like that. It wasn’t a _people_ smell. Farkas had smelled dragon before, had been up close to a living dragon, and he had looked closely at the dragon scale that Vilkas had brought home. He was slow, he admitted that, but even he should have known that smell the second it hit his nose again.

Edric was Dragonborn. _The_ Dragonborn.

He bit his lip, feeling a swell of anxiety and grief and confusion that he had to fight against to keep from giving himself away, his heart pounding. Well, he supposed it all made sense, but why would Edric hide who he was? Farkas had always known his beloved was special, important, but the Dragonborn was the most important person in Skyrim, maybe in the world. Why had he come to Jorrvaskr of all places, when he had spent so long avoiding it? _Edric came to this hall seeking sanctuary. A home. Family,_ Kodlak’s statement to Vilkas echoed, and it all started to make a kind of sense. Maybe Edric wanted someplace to go where no one would bother him, where he could just be himself and not the Dragonborn. Maybe Kodlak and Skjor had invited him. The Dragonborn had known Kodlak had the rot and it was incurable; Edric had planned to go to war in the spring and let himself get killed, after Kodlak was gone, as if he was just spending the fall and winter with the Companions as a favor to the old man. Edric hadn’t planned on Farkas falling in love with him, or actually feeling anything in return. But Farkas _had_ fallen in love, and Edric _was_ willing to try again. After everything he had been through.

Farkas wished Edric had told him who he really was, but maybe Edric was too scared to. Maybe he was afraid of how Farkas would react. Farkas had to admit that he would have been a hell of a lot warier of approaching the younger man if he’d known who he was up front. It would have been an intimidating prospect for anyone. Farkas then felt a pang of sympathetic sorrow, thinking of Edric’s hurt that his man hadn’t loved him the way he wanted, because the guy was straight. Farkas wondered if Ralof had given in to the relationship at first because of the honor of being the Dragonborn’s lover, and not because of Edric himself. Maybe Edric hadn’t told Farkas because he wanted Farkas to love him just because of him, not because he was Dragonborn. Farkas couldn't blame the other man for feeling wary.

A lump in his throat, Farkas sighed as Edric’s sobs began to taper off. He reached up to his pack and rummaged in an outer pocket to find a handkerchief, feeling the front of his tunic soaked with tears. And snot. He gently pushed Edric back and began to wipe his face. Edric gazed up at him with red, swollen eyes, the redness making them all the more vivid a green. The thought of that perfect face being ruined was unbearable. Well then, he’d let Edric keep hiding what he was, even from Farkas, for as long as he wanted, if that made him feel safe. Farkas would try not to let on that he knew, and he sure as hell wouldn’t let Vilkas know. Though maybe it would make Vilkas back off. Vilkas had felt bad for the Dragonborn.

No, he couldn’t tell Vilkas. It wasn’t his place to do so. If Edric couldn’t yet bring himself to tell Farkas then Farkas had no right to go blabbing it to anyone else.

Edric took the handkerchief and blew into it while Farkas stroked his hair back, some of it coming loose from the braid overnight. “I’m hideous,” Edric pouted.

“No you’re not,” Farkas assured him. “You’re beautiful.” He ran the white and caramel strands through his fingers. “My…my beautiful little sweetroll.” He expected Edric to scoff at the name, one he himself had to admit was completely ridiculous and had been meant to make Edric laugh, but instead he looked up at Farkas with big eyes, an expression of disbelief on his face.

“Really?”

“Your hair. The white and light brown, and you smell sweet. That first morning, after you saved me, all I could think was that you were like a sweetroll.”

“Oh…”

“I hope that’s okay. Calling you…you know, cute names.” Edric nodded, his eyes never leaving Farkas’. Farkas leaned on his elbow, his head on his palm. He traced Edric’s eyebrow then let his finger run down his cheekbone to his jaw, with its masculine shape and feminine texture. He could feel Edric’s leg against his, though in their separate bedrolls. Edric sniffed then let out a shuddering sigh, then he grabbed Farkas’ hand and rolled over, putting his back to Farkas then pulling his arm over him. Farkas snuggled up close, feeling deep satisfaction over how perfectly Edric fit there. He kissed Edric’s temple then laid down to pillow his head on his arm again, his nose in Edric’s hair.

“I feel safe with you, Farkas,” Edric whispered.

“Good. You should. ‘Cause you are.”

“I’m sorry I did that. Cried like a baby.”

Farkas growled, “No. No apologies. Anyone should cry like that over losing someone they love. I know that's what it was. It's okay.”

Edric licked his lips and whispered, “He…he was…we were married, but he was never really my husband.” Farkas sighed and kissed the back of his head. “I should’ve told you. That I was married before.”

“It’s your business what you tell people or not.” It made him happy though, getting that little bit out of Edric. Maybe he would start to open up after this.

“It’s just…why did he agree to marry me if he didn’t feel the way I did?” Edric asked in anguish.

“Maybe he wanted to love you better but couldn’t.”

“But it wasn’t fair, to either of us. I saw him looking at women all the time, like he missed being with them. I know he was faithful, but all I could imagine was that he resented me, for making things the way they were.”

“I don’t believe that,” Farkas stated. “He agreed to it. He knew what he was getting into. He clearly felt something for you if he was able to, uh, be with you.”

“But not the way I wanted. There were some things he just wouldn’t do. He couldn’t bring himself to… to do certain things. To me. For me. I always felt…cheated. Unsatisfied.”

Farkas said with sympathy, “Because he was straight. I don’t blame him for not being able to do some stuff. I think he just did the best he could and loved you as much as he could. But I promise I’ll do and be whatever he couldn’t.”

“Ah Farkas,” Edric whispered.

Farkas felt slender fingers twine with his bigger ones. Farkas gave him a gentle squeeze. “Maybe it isn’t very happy right now, but happy birthday.”

“I guess that is today, huh. Thirty.”

“I’m going to be forty-two on the 20th of Evening Star. Thirty’s nothing.”

“Yeah, but I have a hell of a lot more gray hair than you do.”

“I like it though. It’s pretty.” He let go of Edric and sat up. “That reminds me.”

He dug through his pack, and Edric said with worry, “Tell me you didn’t get me something.” Farkas shrugged. “Farkas, no,” Edric sighed, sitting up as well.

“Don’t worry, this was a once in a lifetime thing, believe me,” Farkas said. “I saw it and I couldn’t let anyone else have it. And the ten year birthdays are special. Maybe in ten years I’ll get you something this nice again.”

Edric laughed faintly. “Already thinking that far ahead?” Farkas made a sound of assent. He pulled out the rectangular box wrapped in yellow silk and tied with a thin dark blue ribbon and handed it to Edric, who stared at it as if he was afraid of it. He swallowed and untied the ribbon then stared at the walnut box for a moment before glancing up at Farkas, who smiled encouragingly at him. Edric lowered his eyes then opened the box. “Oh my,” he breathed. “Oh _Farkas.”_

“I wanted to get you something as beautiful as you. When I saw this I knew I had to have it. To get it for you.”

“I’m scared to even touch it.”

“It’s mammoth ivory. It’s pretty tough. And look at this.” Farkas picked up the comb with the velvet, not entirely sure of the cleanliness of his hands.

“No,” Edric whispered with wide eyes. He licked his lips then carefully picked up the compact. He stared at it in the palm of his hand for a long time, then he popped it open with his fingernail. “Oh…wow… Oh Farkas…”

Farkas smiled at his breathless reaction, and when Edric put his hand over his mouth the gesture was so cute he could hardly stand it. Edric stared into the mirror for a long moment, then his hand drifted to his cheek, his fingertips tracing the scars. “I never notice them,” Farkas assured him. “Honest.” He really didn’t, but it wasn’t as if he didn’t understand how they probably made Edric feel. They were pretty serious scars. But then Farkas couldn’t even start to picture in his own head how bad Edric had looked before, so even as serious as the scars were now they probably seemed like nothing.

“I…just hadn’t looked that close. I’ve never seen a mirror this clear before. It’s _amazing.”_

Farkas watched him pull the mirror close, looking at his left eye then his mouth, then Edric smiled broadly at Farkas, like the sun coming out from behind the clouds, his eyes shining even if they were still red. Farkas smiled back, feeling warm all over at the reaction to the gift. It was perfect, just as he had known it would be.

Edric looked at himself again, and his fingers prodded the marks as his smile faded. “You’ve never asked what happened to me.”

“I figured you’d tell me when you wanted to.”

Edric stared at himself, a haunted look crossing his face. “It was a dragon.” Farkas held his breath. “It ah…destroyed me, basically. You look at me and think I’m handsome, but…I didn’t look like this before summer. I…I was a monster. Half my face was gone. My right eye, gone. I could barely walk. My left side, it was crushed. My bones still ache sometimes on that side. I killed the dragon, but…I was a mess. Some priests healed me, but I was still a mess. They wouldn’t let me see my face. It wasn’t until I got out on my own and was able to look into a lake that I saw just how bad it was, and I just about lost my mind. I thought I was going to go crazy, I looked so bad.”

Edric closed the compact and gently put it away as he continued, “I lived like that for nine months altogether. Well, I wouldn’t call it living. But that was when I came to the worship of Kynareth, so…I suppose it wasn’t time wasted. Anyway, I heard about this healer back in Second Seed but I was too scared to go to her. I was afraid of making it worse, bad as it was. My poor mother…I didn’t dare go see her looking like that. When I finally worked up the courage, the healer was horrified by what she saw, and rightly so. She started with just my eye, since that couldn’t get any worse, and within an hour I could see again. She spent days working on me, and it was excruciating, but every time she did I looked a little better, moved a little easier. I ended up paying her close to thirty thousand septims by time it stopped working, but it was worth every coin.” He touched the bridge of his nose then his right cheek briefly. “I can live with this, believe me.”

Farkas nodded, the story leaving him wide-eyed in amazement. “But…this is what you looked like before,” he finally said, not quite a question. He would still love Edric either way. He remembered Vilkas’ gut-wrenching description of his encounter with the Dragonborn in Windhelm, the man’s cry of _I was beautiful!_ and Ulfric’s grief-stricken agreement.

“Oh. Oh, yeah, definitely.” Edric laughed. “Don’t worry, I didn’t change what I really look like, though I’ve heard of people on the wrong side of the law who’ve done that to disappear.” He took the comb and velvet from Farkas, laying the velvet down to look at the comb. He ran his fingertips over the engravings. “This is exquisite, Farkas. I can’t imagine how you found something like this.”

“The Khajiit carved the set. Ysolda bought it from them then sold it to Belethor. It’s been gathering dust for years in his shop, but…I think it was meant for you. Waiting for you.” Just like Farkas.

“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Edric sighed. “Thank you.”

“That’s why I got it, ‘cause you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Edric set the comb down and closed the case to stare at the lid for a long moment. “You really do love me,” he said in a bemused tone. “For real.”

“I do,” Farkas stated quietly. Edric cradled the box in his lap then took a deep breath and looked up at Farkas. He lifted a hand and brushed his fingers along Edric’s cheek, as soft as the velvet in the box. Edric’s jaw was male though, and his chin square with a hint of a cleft in it. “That’s why you can’t grow a beard? The healer?”

Edric nodded, murmuring, “I’ve never kept a beard. I can’t stand it. When she offered to give me back my facial hair I told her not to bother.” He snorted a laugh and set the box next to his pack. “I keep imagining myself as an old man with a grandmother’s face.”

“At least you’re imagining yourself old.”

“Because of you, wolf. Only because of you.” He lowered his eyes to Farkas’ hands and picked one up, holding it in his, then he hesitantly lifted it and placed a lingering kiss on the back.

Farkas smiled at him, though he couldn’t help noticing that Edric’s hands were trembling slightly. Well, they had time to work on that too, and it might take help from a healer or alchemist to get him through it. Farkas didn’t want him to get sick from quitting drink, and unfortunately he might have to quit all the way to overcome his need for it. That wouldn’t exactly be easy in a place like Jorrvaskr.

It didn’t take long to pack up, and Farkas couldn’t help noticing Edric’s shy glances every so often, the little smiles that kept crossing his sweet face. It was obvious that some kind of weight had been lifted off Edric’s soul. Farkas would have been content to wait until after the 13th for some kind of something from Edric, but it was better this way. Safer. Farkas would have been terrified of that date otherwise, fearing Edric would go off on his own and do something rash in his grief. This way Edric already had something in place to fall back on, something to keep him strong. He kept his eyes averted as his beloved took a discreet and very deep drink, not wanting to embarrass him, then they were on their way.

They crossed the bridge and went into the mining settlement of Darkwater Crossing, where Edric paid a young girl well to care for their horses for several days; there was no fresh water or grass for the animals in the volcanic area, a place Farkas had always found bleak and unsettling, though he supposed he should give it a chance. The girl was happy with the arrangement, as was her mother, and it was one less worry.

They passed a deep pool that was already claimed by a small group of hunters, and Farkas’ eyebrows rose as one of the women stood from the water stark naked. Edric waved and the lovely young Redguard woman grinned and waved back then beckoned in a questioning motion, and he shook his head and blew her a kiss in thanks, taking Farkas’ hand in his own. She winked at him with a nod then continued on her way.

“What’s that all about?” Farkas asked in confusion.

“Let’s just say that the folks that come here tend to be very friendly and open-minded.”

“Ohh,” Farkas murmured in understanding. So the girl had been inviting them to join her and her friends. That was nice. He had to admit that it looked cozy in the pool, many of the people up to their necks in the steaming water, while others lay in the shallower water relaxing. He then realized Edric was holding his hand and understood the timing of it. Edric had been letting the woman know that they were on their own business and preferred to be alone. It was a sweet gesture.

It took nearly an hour of walking to reach their destination, at the end of which Farkas was sweating profusely beneath his wolf armor, the air in the entire area warm and moist. He wrinkled his nose at the stinky smell, though Edric didn’t seem to notice it, and Farkas supposed he would get used to it. Edric pointed out the sacred grove of pines and the Sanctuary beyond it but led Farkas past all that to a set of shallower pools that were off on their own, unoccupied. Edric set his pack and bedroll on a flat area between two pools, and when Farkas glanced behind them the tents of the hunters’ camp were barely visible.

He smiled at Edric, who was waiting for a reaction. “This is nice,” Farkas said in appreciation. “I can’t believe I never thought about coming here. We usually go around.”

“Most people don’t really appreciate the area until they’ve spent some time here.” He began stripping off his armor, and Farkas stared at him for a moment then began taking off his own.

When Edric got down to the clothes under his armor he stopped and moved to set up the tent. Farkas hurried to help him, and when Edric spread out the bedrolls one on top of the other to accommodate them both Farkas had to resist the urge to tackle the other man right then and there. He stacked his armor neatly inside, as did Farkas. When the Companion sat down to pull off his boots he saw Edric pull his leather and fur vest over his head then toss it aside, and the sight of bare pale skin made him freeze.

Edric smiled shyly and knelt down facing him, and Farkas swallowed hard as he took in a body that was every bit as fine as the face that was attached to it, slender but leanly muscled, dusted with brown and white hair across his chest that ran down his stomach in an enticing line that disappeared under the leather. There were a few yellowish, faded bruises here and there from his fight with Skjor, and the nearly healed cut from Dustman’s Cairn, and older scars here and there that any warrior would have, though not terribly many, probably because of magical healing. Farkas opened his mouth to tell Edric how gorgeous he was and not a sound came out. Farkas had been with plenty of men just as handsome as Edric, though not as pretty, but there was a certain something about his mate that reached Farkas in a way no one else ever had.

“You look hot,” Edric murmured.

“Uh, thanks.”

Edric laughed, “No, really, you look like you’re sweltering. Roasting.”

“Right,” Farkas muttered, feeling dumb. He unbuttoned his doublet then threw it aside, and Edric eyed him hungrily.

“Okay, now you look hot.”

Farkas laughed, feeling self-conscious as Edric’s eyes traveled over him, then he reached out a hand and tentatively ran his fingers through Farkas’ thick black chest hair. His eyes moved back up to Farkas’, suddenly looking sad and apprehensive.

“It’s been…a long time,” Edric whispered painfully. “I haven’t even…I just…haven’t.”

“Ah love, it’s okay,” Farkas murmured in sympathy. “I’ll do whatever you want, I swear.” Edric nodded, gazing at him with a thoughtful expression, then his eyes lowered and his hand slid down to tug on the waist of Farkas’ pants. His face warming, Farkas did as directed, helping Edric undress him the rest of the way, then he sat back on his hands, feeling weirdly exposed and vulnerable to be sitting there naked in the opening of the tent in broad daylight, standing at half mast, though it didn’t stay that way long when Edric’s hand moved up his thigh. Then Edric’s hand clenched as it stopped and he closed his eyes, a look of grief on his face. Farkas took his fist and kissed it, saying, “Don’t do this to yourself. Why are you doing this?”

“I…I have to get past it. How else am I going to?”

“I will. I’ll do it for you.” Edric’s eyes opened, looking confused and upset, and the whole thing made Farkas’ heart bleed for him. He had to wonder just how long it had been since Edric had truly been made love to, as opposed to whatever it was he had settled for from Ralof. “I’ll do whatever you want me to,” Farkas repeated.

“I want you to do what _you_ want,” Edric replied in a hurt voice. “I want you to be _real,_ to be you. I want to know how things would be. I didn’t think straight with…with him, and I ended up making myself miserable.” Farkas sighed sadly, and Edric made a sound of angry frustration and turned away and sat down, pulling up his knees. “I’m sorry,” he whispered tersely. “I’m fucked up, just like I warned you.”

Farkas moved close behind him, tentatively touching Edric’s bare shoulder, which was tense and bunched up. His brown and white braid hung down his back and Farkas ran it through the fingers of his other hand. “No you’re not,” he stated firmly. “You’re just hurt and sad. You spent this last year grieving and the three years before that making do.”

“It was my own fault!”

“It was his fault too. It was both your faults, but it’s over, and I hope to hell that you don’t think his death had anything to do with anything but bad luck. He’d still be dead either way, but as it was he had someone who loved him for three years.”

“God, Farkas,” Edric choked in disbelief.

“Skjor was my forebear, and Vilkas’. He told us when we took the blood about how he became a sellsword after the war hoping something would kill him, ‘cause he felt so guilty that he survived when most of his friends didn’t. He started living hard, drinking and whoring and fighting, because he was so depressed. He couldn’t find the reason why he lived when the others died. He said he started getting better when he figured out there wasn’t any reason but random shit luck.” Edric said nothing in response, trembling slightly as he stared out at the hot pool in front of their tent. Farkas put both hands on Edric’s shoulders, crossing his legs as he sat to get comfortable, then began gently rubbing. Edric was tense, but that was okay. “I’m sorry if all that sounds hard, but I don’t think you’re any more screwed up than anyone else would be. You went through the war and gods know what else those three years, then you lost your husband and then you got burnt up by a dragon. I’d be insane.” Edric drew in a deep breath then blew it out, some of the tension leaving him. Farkas kissed his shoulder, smelling that mix of masculine sweat and cinnamon that was purely Edric. “Kodlak told me your heart was broken. I don’t think broken hearts heal on their own. So I’m gonna fix it.”

Edric laughed faintly and asked, “How are you going to do that?”

Farkas said against his shoulder, “I’m going to start by giving you the best goddamn blowjob you’ve ever had.” He heard Edric’s breath catch as goose bumps rose on his skin.

“You don’t mess around, do you,” Edric whispered in amazement.

Farkas grunted and shook his head as his mouth traveled up to Edric’s neck, his beard lightly scratching his skin. His arm slid around Edric’s slender waist, feeling lean muscle under the fair skin, and when his thumb brushed a nipple he heard a soft, promising sigh, though the smaller man was still tense. Farkas had to wonder through his own growing desire just how pent up and frustrated Edric must have been all those years, sleeping with a man who couldn’t return Edric’s love fully. He couldn’t even really imagine just what they _had_ done together if Ralof couldn’t bring himself to do all those things Farkas took for granted.

The tension under Farkas’ mouth and hand became another kind entirely as he continued to kiss and pet his beloved, who was pressed back against him and breathing heavily before he ever even went south of the border. He hoped Edric was always this sensitive and responsive and it wasn’t just the result of too many years of being denied. His reactions to just this were so gratifying that Farkas’ beastblood was growling at him to take the other man, to flip him over onto his stomach and claim him. Luckily he had his beast under control, though that control nearly slipped when he brushed his hand over Edric’s groin and was rewarded with a low moan.

“Fuck me Farkas, please…”

“Nuh uh.” He couldn’t help thinking that had been Edric’s compromise way too often, being the ‘girl’ in the relationship. Besides, he’d made a promise.

He moved around in front of Edric, who gazed at him with eyes that were dilated with lust then grabbed fistfuls of Farkas’ hair and pulled him in for a fervent kiss. Farkas growled happily, determined to remember this very moment and the first feel of that perfect, soft little mouth. He put one hand behind Edric’s head and lowered him back onto the bedroll then began kissing down his body, hands still in his hair. He unfastened the leather then slowly pulled it down with Edric’s underclothes, and what sprang out was so adorable that he couldn’t help smiling and kissing along it tenderly. It was in proportion to the rest of his body, anything a man of another race would be proud of, but compared to most Nords it was…adorable. He growled as he rubbed his nose along it, the wolf purring happily inside him at the musky-spicy scent that was so pure and strong there.

He pulled the pants off and tossed them aside as Edric let go of his hair. Farkas leaned down and gently pushed his legs apart and nuzzled the soft skin there, then underneath, hearing a soft whimper as he saw Edric’s hands grab the bedroll on either side. He leaned back up and ran his tongue along Edric’s length as he rubbed his fingertips beneath him, and when he looked up at Edric’s face his eyes were squeezed shut, his lips parted. Beautiful. Farkas began to massage underneath, watching, and when he gently pressed inward on a certain spot Edric’s breath hitched as his toes curled and his hands tightly bunched into fists.

Farkas’ mouth took him in and he heard a whining moan and tasted salt and bitterness and cinnamon, then the hands were in his hair again. He took his time, not about to rush a moment of it. He was going to make it perfectly clear to his mate that this was something he enjoyed, something Edric could look forward to getting used to. A slight buck of the hips made him growl deeply, and the vibrations pushed Edric over the edge as he thrust into Farkas’ mouth and whimpered, his hands so tight in Farkas’ hair it was painful, but a good kind of pain, the kind that made his beastblood rear up in aggression.

He swallowed the odd-tasting seed and began crawling up Edric’s body, his own heavy and throbbing with need, the wolf demanding that he fully claim his little mate, and he ignored it as he stroked himself and leaned down to suckle a tiny brown nipple. He moved to the other and licked it then sucked on it as well, stroking himself harder, then he moved up and kissed Edric deeply. He felt hands stroking his flanks then one moved down to take over as Edric’s legs twined with his. The hand found its rhythm as he thrust into it, and it didn’t take long to reach his own release, panting into Edric’s mouth as he spent himself.

Farkas nuzzled along Edric’s cheek as his arms went around Farkas’ neck, and he slid his own down and around Edric’s shoulders so his hands could cup his head. “Love you,” he growled fiercely, kissing fervently along Edric's cheeks, making sure he kissed the scars as well. He felt Edric nod and hold him more tightly. Farkas suddenly tasted saline, and he sighed and lifted his head to see tears running out the corners of Edric’s eyes as he stared at the roof of the tent. “You okay?”

Edric sniffed and nodded as he took in a deep breath then slowly let it out. “Shit,” he whispered as he wiped his eyes. “You weren’t kidding.”

“Good.” At least Edric was crying for a good reason, one he couldn’t help being smugly pleased about. He looked around for one of his socks and found it, using it to clean his seed off the other man’s stomach. He lay down at Edric’s side, propped up on an elbow, and lightly ran his hand over Edric’s hipbone, then his thigh, sighing happily, feeling his wolf curled up sleepy and content inside him, satisfied to finally have his mate. Edric smiled at him, his green eyes bright and shining, looking truly content for the first time since Farkas had met him. He touched the Amulet of Kynareth on Edric’s chest and said, “I’m surprised you don’t wear an Amulet of Talos.”

Edric’s smile faded as he answered, “I used to. Until a year ago.” He sighed and went on, “Kynareth brought me peace. The wind, the rain, the call of a hawk, the howl of a wolf, the way all of nature is tied together… Once I started paying attention it soothed some of the pain away. It was hard at first, letting go, learning to meditate properly, but once I did I had some measure of peace, at least while I was praying.”

“Then it’s good you came to Whiterun for a whole lot of reasons.”

Edric nodded, running his fingers through Farkas’ chest hair. “All the wilds are hers, but the temple in Whiterun is where I feel her best. I just hope I can get the Eldergleam to give up some sap. Danica hates the thought of another New Life Festival going by with a dead tree. Well, sleeping tree, she thinks. I’m not so sure it is asleep.”

Farkas admitted, “I don’t think it’s sleeping either.” He tried to stifle a yawn and wasn’t successful. He lay down on his back and muttered, “Sleeping. That sounds good.” Edric made a sound of assent but sat up on his elbow to look at Farkas, his braid mussed and cheeks still pink from lovemaking. Edric made a soft sound of happiness and lightly petted Farkas, glancing at him almost shyly. Farkas smiled at him and Edric laughed and leaned down to kiss him tenderly.

Edric hummed in contentment against Farkas’ mouth then broke away to stroke the bigger man’s cheek. Farkas saw the affection in his eyes and could only hope that it would blossom soon into real love. Edric laid his head on Farkas’ broad chest and put his arm over him, and Farkas ran the braid through his hand a few times as he closed his eyes, warm and happy and satisfied, glad that Edric had pushed through his grief and wariness enough to suggest this trip. He wasn’t going to take Edric back home to Jorrvaskr until he was sure that his love’s heart was well on its way to being mended. This morning was a good start.

When Farkas awoke later the sun was directly overhead and he was alone, though Edric had thrown his clothes over him to keep him warm. He grunted and hauled himself upright, squinting though it was cloudy out, and the sight that greeted him took his breath away. Edric stood in the middle of the pool in front of their tent with his back to Farkas, still naked as the day he was born, his hair free of its braid and drifting gently in the breeze, rippling in waves of light brown and white, as pretty as any girl’s. Edric definitely had a masculine body though, with broad shoulders and narrow hips, muscles moving across his back and along his legs. Farkas doubted he weighed more than one-sixty though, slender as he was.

Edric seemed to have his head bowed, his hands clutched in front of him, and Farkas sat and watched him for a moment, hearing a soft murmur, maybe a prayer. He cupped his ears to listen and heard what had to be the dragon tongue. It sent a reverent shiver through him, thinking that his intended mate was Dragonborn. Still, he wasn’t one to overthink things; Dragonborn or not, Edric had freely chosen Farkas. He could have chosen anyone, with looks like that, beyond what he was, and still he had chosen Farkas. Farkas would treat him like the precious thing he was, and that was just Edric. He was well aware though of the honor he was being given. Maybe someday Edric would trust him enough to admit to it.

Edric’s head lifted and he glanced behind him over his left shoulder, and when he realized he was being watched he smiled, his expression softening. He looked so lovely with his hair hanging loose behind him, with the breeze blowing it ever so slightly. _The breath of Kyne,_ Farkas thought with wonder. He crawled out of the tent, and when he stood Edric’s eyes widened as he turned all the way and looked the Companion up and down. Farkas sighed in contentment; the front was just as gorgeous as the back. Those hipbones just begged to be nibbled at, and that sweet little package…

“You handsome beast,” Edric said in appreciation.

He smiled warmly as Farkas came toward him, and Farkas nearly scooped him up and carried him to the tent right then and there. Farkas resisted the urge and instead ran his fingers through Edric’s hair, just as fine and soft as he’d imagined. Farkas remembered the Dragonborn’s head being shaved, that one brief time he had taken his helmet off. He couldn’t help thinking there was some kind of overcompensation going on there, probably another thing Edric had had the healer do for him. It was pretty though, with those long streaks of pure white running through it. Impractical for a warrior, but pretty.

Edric hesitated, raising his hands halfway, then he lightly ran his hands over Farkas’ chest and stomach, murmuring, “Like a work of art.”

“Hardly,” Farkas scoffed. He kept himself up pretty well, but at nearly forty-two it wasn’t as easy as it used to be, and he'd always carried a little more weight than he liked. He wiggled his toes in the warm water as Edric slowly walked around him, running his hands over him like he was assessing merchandise. It was flattering, just as his initial reaction had been. When Edric stopped behind him and squeezed both ass cheeks Farkas said in amusement, “You’re gonna get in trouble if you do that.”

“Oh no,” Edric murmured in mock worry. “Can’t have that.” He slid his hands over Farkas’ back then down his shoulders and arms, muttering, “My… _god_ , Farkas. You’re amazing.”

“Nah.” Edric made a sound of warm happiness and slid his arms around Farkas’ waist, laying his head between Farkas’ shoulder blades, and the gentle brush of a half-erect maleness between his upper thighs made a surge of need go through him. He ran his hands over Edric’s arms, starting to rise himself, and when he felt Edric go up on his tiptoes to nuzzle the back of his neck as something else nuzzled his backside he growled. He heard a soft sound of dismay from Edric as he pulled away, and Farkas caught his hands. “No.”

Edric held his groin away from Farkas and mumbled, “I’m sorry, I should’ve—”

Farkas pulled Edric back against him. “Uh uh. No sorries. Nothing’s wrong. It was a good growl.” Edric made a sound of sorrow and leaned his forehead against Farkas’ back, holding him tightly again. “I’m not going to let you be the girl,” Farkas vowed. “I hate that shit. No one has to be the girl or the guy. That whole thing drives me up the damn wall.” He felt Edric eyebrows rise against his back, and he said more gently, “I got nothing to prove. If you want it you can have it. I’m fine with it. It feels good.” It would probably feel really good considering Edric’s size wasn’t exactly threatening.

Edric was silent and Farkas stayed quiet, letting him think whatever he was thinking. After a couple minutes the younger man finally asked in a pained voice, “You’d really let me do that?”

“Yeah, I would. I will.” He paused then added awkwardly, “Though we might have to get uh, kind of creative, considering the uh, height difference.” He wasn’t quite sure how they were going to get everything lined up properly. Every time he had ever done that it had been with other Nords, men closer to his height.

“You really don’t consider me the girl.”

“No.”

“Then why did you get me the comb and mirror?”

“’Cause you’re handsome and have long hair and I knew you’d like it.”

“But…” Edric trailed off then made a sound of frustration.

“Were you always on the receiving end before he came along?” He heard Edric let out a huff of grief then he felt him shake his head. “I feel protective of you ‘cause you’re smaller than me, I can’t help that. And because you’re sad. And because you can’t heal. But I know how strong you are, and I know you’d comfort me if I was sad and protect me if I was hurt. You did protect me, that night you saved my life.” He felt Edric nod and hold him more tightly. Neither one of them was in the mood any longer, but that was okay. They had all the time in the world for that. It was just their first day together, and getting Edric straightened out was more important than fooling around. Farkas put his hands over Edric’s arms and went on, “When I talk to people about you, I’m gonna to say you’re my man, ‘cause you are.”

“I am,” Edric whispered. “Ah Farkas, I am. And you’re mine.” The catch in Edric’s voice was sweet, moving.

“I am,” Farkas agreed. He took one of Edric’s hands and pulled him along. “Let’s go sit in the hot water for a while. Then we can eat.” And then maybe do other things.

They walked hand in hand to the deepest part of the pool, only about a feet and a half deep, but plenty good for laying back and relaxing in. He watched as Edric twisted his hair to put it up then lay on his stomach in the water next to Farkas, who lay back with his hands behind his head. Farkas made a sound of pleasure, the water here closer to the source of the spring, hotter, and he closed his eyes and tried not to think about anything other than the bubbling sound nearby. He heard Edric start humming a song, and the lovely sound combined with the hot water and lingering sleepiness from the nap made Farkas feel so perfectly happy that it seemed nothing could ruin it.

“Vilkas doesn’t know where we are, does he?”

Farkas sighed and opened his eyes. That could ruin it. “No. I didn’t tell anyone where we were going, only that we’d be gone for a while.” He paused then asked hesitantly, “Do we have to talk about my brother, love?”

“No. Sorry. I just…I worry.”

“Me too. But we can do plenty of that when we get back.”

“Okay.”

It was silent for a while as Farkas lay there trying to clear his mind again, something that usually wasn’t too hard for him to do, and the soft burbling of the water managed to finally soothe him into a lazy, relaxing mindlessness. After nearly ten minutes of blissful silence he realized it was _too_ silent. Edric wasn’t humming, in fact he was so still that Farkas feared that when he opened his eyes his lover would be gone.

Farkas cracked an eye open and saw Edric staring at him, a look of barely-suppressed anxiety on his face, then it smoothed out and he smiled slightly at Farkas as if nothing were wrong. His mate was much too good at putting on that face, and it was worrisome. Edric shouldn’t have to do that with him. “What’s wrong?” Farkas asked, opening his eyes fully. Edric’s calm expression faltered at the question. So many things lurked behind those deep green eyes, things Farkas couldn’t even begin to guess at, things that might take years to get out of him. Farkas didn’t mind, looking forward to learning all about his beloved, being the one to draw things out of him, the one to earn his trust. That might take a while, with all the things Edric was probably dealing with. Mara’s sake, the poor thing had only had his whole face back for a few months now.

“I…I’m just…worried,” Edric said haltingly.

Farkas frowned, waiting, and when nothing further was said he prompted, “Not about my brother again, I hope.”

“No, well, not really…”

Edric sat up in the water, crossing his legs and taking his hair down to put it into a quick, messy braid, avoiding Farkas’ eyes, though his own kept glancing at Farkas’ body. Well, nice as it would be to get into the bedroll and fool around again, Farkas had the feeling that if he let that happen right now it wouldn’t really be the best idea. It would be all too easy for Edric to use sex to try to distract Farkas from the issues, and indeed a moment later Edric’s hand went out to trail along Farkas’ stomach. Farkas caught Edric’s hand and kept hold of it as he sat up to face the young man, pushing his wet hair back with the other.

Edric gazed up at him and murmured, “My god, you’re handsome.”

“Uh, well, thanks,” Farkas began, then he sighed and said, “Look, Edric honey—” Edric made a warm humming sound at the endearment, his eyes shining, and when his free hand landed on Farkas’ thigh then began to move inward Farkas lost his train of thought. “Uh…” He shook himself and grabbed Edric’s other hand before it reached its target. Edric sat back, staring at Farkas with equal parts confusion and wariness. “I just want to know what you were thinking,” Farkas said. “That’s all. Why you’re worried.”

Edric frowned and looked down at their joined hands. “It’s…a feeling, that’s all.” Farkas waited. Edric frowned again and whispered with a shake of his head, “You’ll think I’m…odd.”

“You’re special, and that’s not bad.” Edric’s frown deepened and Farkas tilted his chin up to force him to look Farkas in the eyes. He kept his hand there and leaned down close to him, saying intently, “Nothing you could ever tell me would make me think bad of you. I’d never think you’re odd. Weird. Whatever it is you’re worried about. Maybe sometimes something will surprise me, like the other night when you used magic, but it doesn’t mean I think it’s bad. I’m just not good with words and sometimes things don’t come out right.” It was so tempting to just tell Edric that he knew Edric was Dragonborn, but it was too soon and might make Edric doubt his intentions.

“You’re plenty good with words.”

“So?”

Edric sighed sadly and took Farkas’ left hand in both of his. As he turned Farkas’ hand over then back again, as if studying it, he murmured, “I ah, can tell things. About people. When I look in their eyes, I can…I can get a feel for who they are. I can tell if they’re good or not. See their character. I can tell when people are lying to me, if they’re looking me in the eye.”

Feeling a shiver go over his skin, Farkas whispered, “Like Kodlak.” That was damn spooky.

Edric snorted a tired laugh. “Yeah, like Kodlak. And like Kodlak, sometimes…I get hunches. Premonitions. They’re usually vague, and sometimes I can’t separate them out from my own feelings, my own fears and wants and worries. I don’t dream, like he sometimes does, thank the Nine, but I do get…those feelings.”

 _Wow,_ Farkas thought with another wave of goose bumps, hoping Edric would think it was the breeze. “So, uh…what were you feeling when you were looking at me like that?” He was almost afraid to find out.

Edric sighed heavily, staring at Farkas’ mouth, and he finally mumbled, “It felt…like something bad is going to happen. Like something’s going to ruin this.”

“No,” Farkas said in a firm tone with a shake of his head. “I won’t let it.”

Edric looked up to meet his eyes, then he nodded and looked down at Farkas’ hand again. “Maybe… maybe it’s just my own anxiety.” A pained expression crossed his face. “I waited so long for something like this. I don’t want to lose you.”

The sentiment warmed Farkas’ heart, and he kissed Edric’s forehead and murmured against it, “You won’t, love. I promise.” He leaned his forehead against the smaller man’s. “I knew from the first time I saw your face that you were the one for me. I won’t ever let anything or anyone come between us.” Edric smiled slightly at him and nodded, then his hand came up to slide around the back of Farkas’ neck and wind itself in his damp hair. The gentle touch of Edric’s lips on his sent a surge of warmth through him, and he didn’t resist this time when the other hand let go of his and slid up his thigh to lightly fondle him, making Farkas growl into his mouth.

Edric sat up on his knees then pushed Farkas back, and when the big warrior sat back on his hands and smiled at him Edric stated warmly, “I think I'm starting to like it when you growl.”

“W-why’s that?” His voice hitched when Edric climbed into his lap to straddle him. The feel of male heat against his own made him rumble again.

Edric leaned down and murmured against Farkas’ cheek, “I like that I bring out the beast in you.”

Farkas snorted a laugh then it faltered when Edric ran his tongue along Farkas’ neck, and when he felt Edric’s teeth lightly nip him he shuddered with a surge of need. He had never slept with anyone other than Edric who knew what he was, other than Aela of course, and that wasn’t the same at all. It wasn’t even close. When he felt the tug of teeth on his earlobe he groaned quietly and moved beneath Edric, who whispered in his ear.

“Did you mean it when you said I could have you?”

“Yes,” Farkas said intently.

“Did you ah, bring something?”

Farkas nodded, very glad that he had. Edric sighed happily and began kissing him again, and the warm, lithe body against him was driving Farkas crazy. Still, the slender lightness in his lap put the slightest dampener on his lust, making him worry that he’d never be able to have Edric in that way. He was just too small, and Farkas was not, and the beastblood made it hard to be gentle and go slow. He felt a hand wrap around him as Edric’s kisses grew more insistent, then Edric slid down his legs and took him in his mouth.

Farkas bit his lip against a whimper as he watched Edric, watched that sweet, perfect mouth wrapped around him, a hand stroking him at the same time. Green eyes glanced up at him from beneath thick lashes and Farkas whispered roughly, “Beautiful.”

Edric smiled then murmured against him, “Handsome.” He ran his tongue up Farkas’ length, holding his gaze, then smiled coyly again.

“C’mon,” Farkas demanded impatiently, grabbing Edric’s wrist and giving it a tug, and his beloved laughed and went along, and when Farkas scooped him up in his arms he laughed again, putting his arms around Farkas’ neck as he kissed along his rough cheek. It was wonderful how light Edric was, and when Farkas laid him down on the bedroll and he stretched his arms over his head he had to resist the urge again to flip him onto his stomach and take him. Farkas ran his hands over every perfect inch, admiring, and Edric smirked at him and reached up to undo the braid then fluffed out his hair, watching Farkas’ expression, and he let his beloved see whatever he wanted to see.

“Ah Farkas, I don’t deserve you,” Edric murmured.

“Bullshit.” The other man laughed softly then reached out to grab Farkas’ erection. Farkas grimaced and muttered, “I don’t think we’re ever going to be able to do it the other way.” He was well aware of his size, something that had never been a problem before, especially with women. It made him feel a pang of guilt, thinking of Narri, and Vilkas, and he tried unsuccessfully to shove the thought away. Narri was a nice girl, and pretty, and Vilkas obviously liked her a great deal. Well Farkas liked her too, but not that way. Farkas feared that Edric had been right the other night when he’d said that Farkas would have to do the courting, implying Vilkas wasn’t capable of it. Farkas wondered if that was where most of Vilkas’ anger was coming from: fear that he would never have a wife unless Farkas wooed one for him.

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” Edric said.

“What?” Farkas blinked in confusion, wondering for a second if Edric had read his mind.

“This.” He gave Farkas a gentle squeeze and a tug that focused the big warrior’s attention quite effectively. “If you take the time up front, I can certainly take this.”

“Okay,” Farkas whispered. Edric smiled warmly at him, green eyes sparkling, and any thoughts of his twin disappeared. _This_ was all that mattered. Edric was all that mattered. Farkas’ life was his own, and he was going to have a life with Edric. He had always assumed his brother would be part of whatever life he had, but Vilkas had made it clear that he couldn’t be. That hurt. It hurt that Vilkas refused to let Farkas be himself. Well, everyone knew now where Farkas' real interests were, so he didn’t have to hide it anymore. As if he’d be able to after this trip.

He willingly let his beloved take control, Edric clearly knowing what he was doing. Well of course he knew; his tally of lovers no doubt made Farkas’ pale in comparison, so of course he had probably had sex with taller Nord men plenty of times and knew how to make it work. And he did, so well that by time Edric entered him his head was about spinning. His little love held him tightly, a little too tightly, kissing and nibbling along his back, whispering Farkas’ name when he wasn’t moaning. It was wildly exciting to hear and feel his mate so lost in the experience and know he was the reason for it, and by Dibella it felt good, with that spicy scent all around, making him push back to meet the other man. He felt Edric tense and swell inside him then the thrusting nearly knocked the wind out of him before Edric let out a shout of release, and Farkas swore that he heard the faintest touch of thunder in it, something he didn’t have the mind to contemplate at the moment, then a hand grasped him and any thought at all flew out the window.

He lay there catching his breath, savoring Edric’s warmth on his back and inside him, his love seeming to be in no hurry to pull out. Farkas didn’t mind that at all. Edric held him tightly, his head between Farkas’ shoulder blades, and Farkas brought up his hand to find the one on his chest and hold it.

“Ah, _Farkas…”_

The warm murmur had a tone to it that hadn’t quite been there before, and Farkas squeezed his hand then felt their fingers twine together. It was so intimate, so different from the other times he had been the one on this end of things. He wasn’t even a little sore, Edric’s size perfect for him; every other time he had done this had been with another Nord close to his size and even with the right preparation it still sometimes stung a bit afterward.

“That was… _fabulous,”_ Edric whispered.

“I’m glad, honey,” Farkas replied.

Edric sighed and gave Farkas a squeeze. “It’s been so long. Gods, it felt good.” He hesitated then asked, “Was it okay? For you?”

Farkas laughed, “Couldn’t you tell? I wasn’t faking it.” The question was sweet though. Vulnerable. He felt Edric nod and relax a bit, placing a tender kiss on Farkas’ shoulder. Edric pulled away the slightest bit, slipping out of him, leaving no discomfort behind, though a few of the nips on his back ached a bit. That was fine. He liked the idea that his mate had marked him, even if it was just temporary. He couldn’t help wondering how much more energetic Edric would get if he took the wolf blood, though Farkas couldn’t imagine it running much hotter than a dragon’s.

“Good.”

Edric slid off to the side, pulling Farkas around to face him. They kept their hands joined as Farkas leaned close to kiss him, and the way Edric’s face shone made his heart sing. His beloved looked so happy. Purely and truly happy, the shadows behind his eyes chased away, for now. Farkas kissed Edric’s forehead then said, “Let’s get cleaned up, then I’ll comb your hair out for you.” Another nap would be nice too, but he didn’t want to waste any more of the day sleeping. He was done fooling around for today though. At his age he couldn’t go at it like he used to. Like Edric probably could. If his mate wanted more pleasuring he’d be happy to oblige, but Farkas was pretty satisfied.

“Ah, that would be wonderful.” Edric paused, as if he was going to say more, then he seemed to reconsider and stayed silent, sighing happily as he gazed at Farkas.

Farkas kissed him once more then sat up and pulled the smaller man to his feet. Edric made a grunting sound then let go of him to get something out of his pack, and after a moment he came back up with a chunk of soap. Farkas didn’t say anything, and didn’t think his expression had changed, but Edric seemed embarrassed all of a sudden.

“I uh, I’m kind of ah, weird about…washing,” the younger man explained haltingly, his cheeks faintly pink.

“Okay,” Farkas said with a shrug. "That isn't weird."

“I could tell it annoyed Vilkas, while we were gone.”

Farkas rolled his eyes and took Edric’s hand again, leading him to the water. “A lot of things annoy my brother, especially these days.” He shook himself. “Ugh, no more talking about him.”

“Sorry.”

“You liking being clean is fine by me. It’s nice.”

“It’s just a habit I got into. After…well, it’s been a while. I wasn’t quite as…fussy, in the Legion.”

“You must’ve been in a long time,” Farkas prompted as they sat back down in the water, the tips of Edric’s hair getting wet.

Edric nodded as he began to wash. “Mm-hm. A little over ten years.”

“I thought so. What rank did you reach?”

“Um, Praefect.” Farkas frowned in confusion at his tone, and Edric grimaced as he admitted, “I should’ve been Tribune by that time, but I ah, don’t take orders very well.”

Farkas snorted then laughed more loudly at that. That was easy to believe. The Dragonborn had nearly gotten his head chopped off for protesting orders.

Edric laughed slightly then went on, “I was always mouthing off, getting in trouble. As you can probably imagine.”

“Naw.”

Edric laughed again, a more real laugh this time. “Anyway,” he drawled, “I enjoyed being in the Legion. Got to travel all over Cyrodiil, though it was a bit warm for us Nords. Summer along the southern borders is almost unbearable, but it’s beautiful there. The air smells different. The flowers and plants and animals there, all so different. I miss that life, sometimes.” He soaped up his hands then passed it to Farkas, who went along with it, not as worried about being clean but not minding it either. Edric washed his hands carefully then his groin, saying in a distracted tone, “I learned most of what I know in the Legion. When you spend ten years training every day, in both weapons and magic, you can’t help but get pretty good, unless you’re a hopeless case, and there were a few of those, but they usually wash out early. I was one of the few Nords that was any good at magic, or even had an interest in it, so I was kind of a novelty.”

Farkas nearly told Edric what Kodlak had said about Nords and the Companions once using magic, but he wasn’t sure what Kodlak had told the young man about pretty much anything, so he said nothing, simply nodding. It was good to hear all this though and see his mate opening up a bit. It was interesting, regardless.

Edric went on, “I told Kodlak that I feel the stance on magic up here is short-sighted. You know, I met a tribe of Nords on Solstheim who use magic. The Skaal.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of them. Wow, so you met some?”

“Aye, I stayed in their village for a while. I ah, guess I haven’t had the chance yet to tell you much about the island. What it was like.”

Farkas nodded and said, “I’d like to hear about it. When do you want to go look at that tree?”

Edric waved him off. “Right before we leave for home. I don’t want to mess with a bucket of sap or whatever in the meantime.”

 _Home,_ Farkas thought with a surge of happiness. Edric thought of Jorrvaskr as home. His mate moved behind him and took the soap, using the lather to deeply rub Farkas’ back, and he made a purring rumble of pleasure at the feel of strong hands doing everything just right, making him feel lazy and content. He silently thanked Mara that he had followed his instincts and done the right thing, in carving the bird and admitting his feelings. This was really only their first day together and he already couldn’t quite remember what it felt like to be single and alone. Well, he would never have to worry about that ever again. Neither of them would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet Farkas...it's funny how when you first come to Jorrvaskr he says "My brother Vilkas is a better talker than me" and yet when you look at their stats Vilkas has a Speech level of 20 and Farkas' is 100. I think it's an indication of how even though he isn't one for big, flowery words, Farkas always knows just what to say.
> 
> Dovahzul translation:  
> saraan fah zey ko Sovngarde - wait for me in Sovngarde


	17. Chapter 17

** Farkas, 7th of Frostfall, 4E205 **

“Wow,” Farkas breathed.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Edric whispered.

Farkas nodded, agreeing completely. Eldergleam Sanctuary was one of the prettiest places he had ever seen in Skyrim, warm and steamy, full of plants and flowers. He had been all over the country too and had never had a clue this was here, or maybe just hadn’t been paying attention. There were a couple Nords here, eating together by a stream, and a multitude of bees, butterflies, moths, torchbugs and dragonflies flitting about, but no other animal life. Sunlight streamed down from the ceiling in shafts of gold, lighting up the dust motes and steam in the air.

Edric took his hand and led him up the path and Farkas went along happily. He was just so happy. He was so happy that just looking at Edric now made him grin like an idiot. The last three days had been so very perfect, full of talking and lovemaking and exploring the area. Last night they’d even gone over and visited with the hunters, drinking and sitting in the deep water for several hours, the hunters singing songs back and forth. It had been wonderful fun, though the entire time Farkas had half feared, half hoped that something ‘interesting’ would happen, as Edric had hinted at, but the mood had been mellow, not charged at all. Not that Farkas would have joined in anyway. He loved Edric too much to even look at anyone else. He liked to think Edric loved him too at this point, soon as it was. Sometimes Edric seemed on the edge of telling Farkas, only to pull back from it. It had only been a few days, so he didn’t expect anything so soon anyway, but he longed to hear it. He longed to hear Edric sing, too. His love often hummed to himself and it seemed he would have a sweet singing voice, but that too seemed to be something Edric held back.

They stopped halfway up the steps to the huge tree, the way blocked by massive gnarled roots. Edric let go of Farkas’ hand and took off his pack. Farkas stayed silent, wondering how the hell they were going to get up to the tree, and when he saw his mate pull out a nasty looking dagger that looked to be forged of ebony he grunted in apprehension. “Uh, what are you gonna do with that?” Farkas asked warily.

“Apply some _gentle_ persuasion to the tree,” Edric stated.

“Where did you get it from?” The dagger looked evil, unnatural. Poking the tree with it seemed a very bad idea.

“Eh, I’ve had it for years. Got it off a hagraven somewhere in Falkreath, after fighting a bunch of witches. I never had any idea what it was for, but it looked important, so I stuck it away somewhere.”

“It wasn’t the hagraven you were engaged to, was it?” Edric stared at him for a moment then burst into laughter at the joke. It was the heartiest laughter Farkas had ever heard out of him, and he couldn’t help laughing as well. Edric’s smile was the sweetest thing in the world.

“Ha, no,” Edric answered, still chuckling. “My fiancee was much prettier.”

Farkas was relieved when Edric didn’t ask him how he knew. They’d managed to not say a word about Vilkas since the day of Edric’s birthday. They had talked about the Companions, and a great deal about Kodlak, but not Vilkas. Edric was genuinely fond of the old man and seemed deeply interested in his past, and Farkas was more than willing to tell him whatever he wanted to know, though he made sure not to mention the girl that Kodlak had briefly loved. That was a trust Farkas wasn’t about to break, not even for Edric.

Edric twirled the dagger in the fingers of his left hand and murmured, “All right, then. Here goes.”

He waved the blade in front of the nearest root, as thick around as Farkas’ chest. Its bark looked thick and Farkas couldn’t imagine how the thing was going to move without the whole thing cracking. It wasn’t moving, so he supposed that was that.

“Come on,” Edric muttered in annoyance. “Open up!”

“Didn’t Danica tell you what to do?”

“Well, er…no,” Edric admitted. “She just told me to use Nettlebane to retrieve some sap. Stick it in and twist it, she said, but she didn’t mention the way being blocked.” Farkas grunted, looking at the dagger. “Yeah, I guess that’s its name: Nettlebane. Supposedly it’s older than even the tree, which is older than metal. How anything on Nirn can be older than metal is beyond me, but that’s what Danica said.”

Farkas grimaced and said in a lowered voice, “I don’t think sap is going to fix the Gildergreen, Edric honey. It’s dead.”

“I know it’s dead. You know it’s dead. Everyone knows it’s dead except Danica. She needs to…um, well, pull her head out of somewhere dark.” Edric shook his head in exasperation. “I think she’s lost her way, a bit. It isn’t her fault. I know the war screwed everything up for a few years. She spent so much time healing the sick and wounded that she’s forgotten she’s a priestess, not just a healer. I think Kyne zapped the tree for a reason. I still can’t grasp the entire reason, but I can guarantee the goddess wasn’t happy when she did it.”

Farkas nodded, agreeing. It warmed him that Edric talked to him like he was a normal person, not like the halfwit everyone else did. He didn’t always get everything Edric was saying at the time, but he remembered it, and he always eventually got it. Or usually did, anyway.

Edric’s expression hardened as he turned back to the roots. “Fine, be that way,” he said to the tree, and Farkas held his breath as his mate lashed out and hit the root with the flat of the blade.

The huge root slowly folded up and away with a creaking groan. “Holy shit,” Farkas said in wonder, then he quickly slapped a hand over his mouth, remembering they were in a sacred place. Edric clucked his tongue at him, smirking, then moved on to the next root.

Four times Edric struck the roots out of the way, and when they reached the top Farkas whistled softly at the sight of the enormous tree. It was bigger than the Gildergreen had ever been, adorned with lush pink blossoms the same as the Gildergreen, giving off a soft flowery fragrance as sunlight streamed down through its branches from the open roof of the cave. The tree moved every so often as if a breeze was passing through it, but there was no breeze here.

“Kynareth bless,” Edric whispered in a reverent tone, pulling out his amulet and kissing it. He dug out a washed, clean mead bottle for the sap then warily approached the tree, Nettlebane in hand. He stopped short of striking the tree, quickly drawing his hand back.

“What’s wrong?” Farkas asked.

“I’ve got a _bad_ feeling about this,” Edric muttered.

“How so?” Edric shivered and Farkas could see the goose bumps on his arms. The younger man put the dagger and bottle back in his pack then moved away from the tree, setting the pack against the back wall of the cavern.

“It’s wrong somehow,” Edric said in a tone of disquiet as Farkas joined him. “There’s a reason Danica didn’t want to come here and do this. She didn’t even want to touch the knife.” His expression turned sour. “I don’t particularly appreciate this.”

Farkas’ eyebrows rose in surprise. “She wouldn’t set you up!” Danica was a good woman, a holy woman, and a close friend of the Companions, one of the few who kept the secret of the Circle.

“No, but she probably thought it would be better for Kynareth to be pissed off at me than at her.” He shook his head, his braid swaying. “There’s a reason the Gildergreen was killed. Kynareth, Kyne, wouldn’t have done that just to have Danica send me for sap. There’s no…no _lesson_ in that. For anyone.”

Farkas nodded silently, seeing the wisdom in that. A lot of people had thought for years that the tree was truly dead. Trying to revive a dead tree didn’t make much sense. It would be like a weird sort of necromancy to even make the attempt.

He stayed where he was, silent, as Edric walked back to the tree. He himself had nothing to add, no way he could help, so he simply stayed out of the way and watched with a touch of nervousness as his lover slowly knelt among the roots at the base of the Eldergleam. Edric clutched his amulet and bowed his head and began to whisper. To pray.

Farkas squatted down on his heels, making himself small, feeling a soft breeze blow through the cavern. Edric didn’t seem to notice, murmuring to himself in a constant stream, and when he began to rock softly it sent chills down Farkas’ spine. He had never been a religious man. None of the Companions really were, except for Aela’s devotion to Hircine; the rest of the Circle paid the Daedric Prince lip service, but that was it as far as Farkas knew. Farkas had seen priests pray plenty of times, watched them slide into that strange otherworldly state where everything around them seemed to cease to exist. It had been just like this. He heard the soft murmur grow the slightest bit louder, and he cupped his ears as he had the other day, and as he had the other day he heard the dragon language, making fresh chills play across his skin.

_“Hon zey, Kaan, fah vothni hi Zu'u los voj ahrk porah. Hon zey, Kaan, hon hin selor aar…”_

The words rolled off Edric’s tongue in a sing-song tone, alien. Farkas wondered if Edric really would have stayed in High Hrothgar forever, if the Greybeards hadn’t run out of mead as Vilkas had said. He wondered if eventually Edric would have become a Greybeard, though obviously without the beard, being all burnt up as he had been. Gods, that was painful to think about. Farkas had gotten burns before, and they hurt like hell, long past the time when any cut stopped hurting, an entirely different kind of pain that was harder to ignore. What must that have felt like, being in pain all the time even after being healed, missing an eye and half a face, one leg almost useless? How had that felt, to do so much for everyone, to risk one’s life over and over again, putting off your own future for years on end, going to the land of the dead for Shor’s sake, only to have it all fall apart?

Those screams he had heard echoed in his mind, gut-wrenching, haunting. And even after all that, the Dragonborn had forced himself down the Seven Thousand Steps just to give Ulfric hell for lying to him. He’d forced himself down them again to finish destroying the menace of the vampires. Farkas didn’t believe he had come down just because he had run out of booze. Vilkas had said that only the Dragonborn could finish off the vampires, and only the Dragonborn could read the Elder Scrolls and not go blind or mad, though Farkas still couldn’t make the connection between the two. The thought that Edric had done such a thing though was mind-boggling, but then it didn’t take much to boggle Farkas’ mind, he thought numbly. Supposedly the Dragonborn had even fought another Dragonborn on Solstheim. Again, while crippled. Farkas simply couldn’t grasp what his mate had done. What his mate was.

Edric leaned his forehead against the tree, and Farkas heard, _“Gesaag zey, Monah do Muz. Zu’u los Ysmir, Zu’u los hin kul. Gesaag zey fos wah dreh, Briinah Skar. Bolaav zey hin revak su'um…”_

 _Ysmir,_ Farkas thought with a reverent shudder, letting his hands fall. It was Vilkas’ favorite oath, _By Ysmir,_ and Ysmir himself was living under Jorrvaskr’s roof. Ysmir was Farkas’ lover. Farkas again debated telling Vilkas who Edric really was. The Dragonborn had ticked off his twin, but Vilkas had been sympathetic after his return from Windhelm. Maybe if Vilkas knew that Edric was Dragonborn and remembered how he had suffered, how he had made so many sacrifices for everyone, Vilkas might warm to him a little.

As Edric fell silent Farkas shook his head and pushed the brief impulse aside, again. Edric didn’t want anyone to know he was Dragonborn, simple as that. Kodlak and Skjor knew, but if Edric wanted anyone else to know he would tell them. It hurt a little that he hadn’t told Farkas yet, but Farkas just had to be patient. It took time to earn someone’s trust, and it wasn’t that Edric _dis_ trusted him. It wasn’t that at all. Edric probably just wanted to be really sure that Farkas loved him for the right reasons.

His beloved nodded slightly, seemingly to himself, and Farkas watched with an eerie feeling as Edric turned and sat down cross-legged with his back to the base of the tree, his gaze unfocused. He pulled his small knife from his belt, the one every Nord carried with them from the age of seven or eight, male and female alike, used for just about everything. He pulled off his right gauntlet then held out his right hand, and Farkas held his breath as his mate stabbed the tip of the knife into his palm. He gritted his teeth against saying anything, didn’t let himself move, sure there was a purpose behind this. Maybe Kynareth had told Edric to do it, though Farkas couldn’t begin to guess why. The blood dripped into the soil and Edric closed his eyes and let the knife fall, grabbing for his amulet again, and Farkas stayed silent and still as he waited and Edric began praying again under his breath.

The high-pitched cry of a bird of prey startled Farkas, and he looked up as a shadow passed through the shafts of sunlight. It was only a hawk flying over the hill that housed the cavern, but the timing of it made the hair all over Farkas’ body stand on end. He heard excited voices from the two people below as a wind swirled its way through the cave, and his gaze went back to Edric to see petals from the Eldergleam drifting around him like pink snowflakes. He seemed unaware of it, sitting motionless except for the movement of his lips and the slow drip of his blood. It was soaking into the soft soil before him, and Farkas clamped his lips shut against a whine of anxiety. He couldn’t imagine what on earth his beloved was trying to do, but it was frightening and more than a little morbid. Not that he would let Edric see that. Well, he’d try not to.

The two Nords from below came running up the pathway and stopped short when they saw Edric. Farkas didn’t pull his gaze away from his mate, didn’t move a muscle, and the two people didn’t seem to notice him, instead staring at Edric with wide eyes then sinking to their knees and clutching at each other’s hands, the woman pointing excitedly at the spot in front of the tree where the soil was beginning to churn.

 _Blessed Kynareth,_ Farkas thought in reverent fear as a pale white shoot began curling its way out of the bloody dirt. It was one thing to see someone do magic. This was the work of a Divine, the answer to a prayer. The Dragonborn’s prayer to his patron goddess. The sprout continued to grow until it reached roughly two feet in height, then short branches began to unfurl. Buds formed then swelled then the sapling burst into blossom, sending a sweet fragrance wafting on the breeze. When the scent hit his nose Farkas huffed with wide eyes and huddled in on himself; the flowery perfume was touched with the scent of cinnamon. The blossoms were the same deep pink as its parent tree, but every so often one was streaked with red.

Edric opened his eyes with a shuddering sigh, looking exhausted, then he blinked in surprise at the baby tree before him. He looked at his right palm in confusion then curled his hand into a fist, and when the two people rose to their feet and hesitantly approached he frowned, holding his hand to his chest.

“Who are you, stranger?” the man whispered as he knelt on the other side of the sapling, the woman going with him.

 _“Nimun,”_ Edric said shortly. He cleared his throat. “Nobody. I’m nobody.”

“Doubtful,” the woman said in a wary tone. Farkas stood, and the clanking of his armor drew the Nords’ attention. “Companion!” she said in shock. “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough,” Farkas said evasively. He wasn’t a small man but he knew how to make himself unobtrusive and stick to the shadows when he wanted to. He picked up Edric’s pack and brought it to him, kneeling next to him. His mate avoided his gaze, his cheeks flushed, as if he was embarrassed, and Farkas put his hand on his shoulder. “This will make Danica happy,” he said to him. “A lot of people happy.”

The man muttered, “Danica Pure-Spring, eh? Couldn’t be bothered to do her dirty work herself, is that it?”

Farkas stated in a careful tone, “Her work keeps her busy.” He took off his own pack to find something to bandage up Edric’s hand; blood was still seeping slowly through his fingers.

“This is supposed to be her work!”

The woman asked Edric, “You are a Companion as well?” Edric shrugged. “Well, whatever you are, you are blessed of Kynareth,” she said warmly. She tentatively leaned down and drew in a breath then sighed in pleasure. “What a wonder this is. You are taking it back to Whiterun, yeah?”

Edric nodded, and when Farkas gently tugged on his wrist he offered up his hand. The wound wasn’t wide but it was deep, and Farkas resisted the urge to chide Edric for it. At least it wasn’t his dominant hand. The wound on his shoulder had healed quickly, barely more than a scar at this point, so this should heal fast as well, but Farkas still didn’t like seeing his beloved bleed, and liked even less seeing him cut himself.

The man sighed and admitted, “I am glad someone finally did something about the Gildergreen. It’s a disgrace.”

The woman put her hand on his shoulder and soothed, “Now Sond. The Divines work in ways we rarely understand. There was a purpose behind the goddess striking down the tree.” She smiled at Edric. “Perhaps this will show Danica that the true blessings of nature lie in renewal, in rebirth. Not some slavish maintenance.”

Sond nodded and stated, “Kyne takes with one hand and gives with the other. Perhaps now Danica will see that the old tree’s demise was a sign of the goddess’ displeasure.” He smiled at Edric, gripping his left forearm briefly. “You have Kyne’s favor, stranger.” His hand fell away and he reached out a finger to lightly touch one of the red-streaked blossoms. “This little one was born of your blood, a high favor indeed. How will you get this child of yours back to the city?”

Edric stared at the man with a stricken expression, then he swallowed and looked up at Farkas. They had only planned to gather a bit of sap, not take home a living plant. He lowered his eyes then said to Farkas, “The cooking pot.”

“Aye, love,” Farkas agreed, clearing his throat when the man and woman looked between the two of them with raised eyebrows then shrugged and turned their attention back to the sapling. He tied off the bandage then murmured, “I’ll be right back.” Edric nodded, and Farkas rose to his feet and jogged down the path. Their camp was already packed up, the bulk of their gear waiting at the entrance to the cavern, so it would take just a few minutes to get a pot to put the tree into. It would only take a little over a day to get back to Whiterun; if they started right now they’d be home before dinner tomorrow.

They’d make quite an entrance, that was for sure. It made Farkas’ heart swell with pride at the thought of going through the city gates with Edric at his side, a baby Gildergreen in his lover’s hands. His man had brought about the means of reinvigorating the heart of the city. Whiterun was at the center of Skyrim and Farkas remembered the masses of pilgrims that had once passed through to see the tree, but they had stopped four years ago. Word would no doubt quickly spread that Kynareth had blessed Whiterun with a new tree. It was exciting. Like a fresh start. Yes, that was exactly what it was. A new lease on life for Edric, and for Farkas, and a new tree for Whiterun. For the rest of his life Farkas would look on the tree, watching it grow, and feel like it was a symbol of the way they had started their new life together. It was a good, good thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured I would start putting the Dovahzul translations at the bottom as I do when posting on FFnet, since the translator feature on Thuum.org doesn't always translate things properly. (Edit: I'm using the Legacy translator and the full dictionary that includes non-canon words. Call me lazy.)
> 
>  _Hon zey, Kaan, fah vothni hi Zu'u los voj ahrk porah. Hon zey, Kaan, hon hin selor aar…_  
>  Hear me, Kyne, for without you I am deaf and blind. Hear me, Kyne, hear your devout servant…
> 
>  _Gesaag zey, Monah do Muz. Zu’u los Ysmir, Zu’u los hin kul. Gesaag zey fos wah dreh, Briinah Skar. Bolaav zey hin revak su'um..._  
>  Tell me, Mother of Men. I am Ysmir, I am your son. Tell me what to do, Sister Hawk. Grant me your sacred breath...
> 
>  _Nimun_  
>  Nobody


	18. Chapter 18

** Vilkas, 8th of Frostfall, 4E205 **

Vilkas scowled at the dummy as another round of _oohs_ and _ahhs_ reached his ears, and he clenched his jaw and put his training sword on his shoulder as he looked up at the Skyforge to see the two Gray-Manes standing at the edge of the rocks, shading their eyes against the setting sun. The red of the sunset began to take on a yellowish-orange glow, and a moment later Vilkas smelled smoke.

He frowned and put the training sword on the rack then quickly made his way around to the front of the mead hall, where he saw most of his shield-siblings standing at the top of the steps, all but Aela and Njada who were out on a job together. Farkas held Kodlak in his arms, bundled in his bedding like a child, but the old man was beaming, smiling from ear to ear, his silver eyes shining in a face that grew thinner by the week. A wave of fury and hurt going through him, Vilkas hung back by the stone wall that separated the grounds from the rest of the city. So Farkas hadn’t bothered to greet him. Gone nearly a week and his own twin didn’t even have the time of day for him now.

He pulled his gaze from the others and looked down at the plaza, where it seemed the entire city had turned out, even the reclusive Farengar of all people. Vilkas’ eyes widened in shock as he watched flames creeping up the dry trunk of the Gildergreen. Someone was burning down the Gildergreen. He heard footsteps and saw Skjor coming towards him, and he whispered in confusion, “What in Oblivion is going on?”

“Farkas and the whelp brought back a new tree,” the one-eyed old warrior answered. Vilkas stared blankly at him. “It’s kind of a puny little thing. They brought it back in a cooking pot,” he finished with a snort of amusement.

“But…” Vilkas turned his gaze back to the plaza, and a moment later a collective whoop went up as the fire reached the upper branches and the tree began to burn in earnest. It seemed sacrilegious to celebrate such a thing. And yet there was Danica front and center, a broad grin on her face, the aforementioned cooking pot in her hands, from which sprouted a silver-barked sapling with pink and red flowers. Red. Why were some of the flowers red? Edric was at her side, looking resigned to the attention, and Jarl Vignar was at his other side, his wrinkled old face sporting a wide smile beneath his moustache, his hand on the young man’s shoulder.

Skjor quietly said, “This has made Kodlak very happy, brother. Try, will you?”

“Aye,” Vilkas muttered, and Skjor nodded and returned to the others. It was so hard though to keep a lid on his anger. He had vacillated between fury and embarrassment ever since Farkas and Edric had left town. Mostly fury, but he realized in hindsight (always in hindsight) that he had acted like a crazy person. He had embarrassed his twin, and the Companions. He hadn’t left Jorrvaskr’s grounds since, too ashamed to show his face in town. And then it enraged him, knowing it never would have happened if his brother hadn’t spent half their adult lives pretending. Hiding. Deceiving. Misleading. Vilkas had spent the last ten years looking forward to the day he could marry and have a family, and Farkas had played along, and now Vilkas had no hope at all of living the life he had planned. All because his idiot, ice-brained twin had become infatuated with a pretty piece of ass.

It didn’t take long for the tree to begin crumbling in upon itself, dry as an old bone, and when a breeze blew through the plaza the townsfolk sent up cries praising Kynareth, and Kyne. It was ridiculous. The wind always blew here. It wasn’t as if the Divine herself had sent a breeze just then. Fools.

Vilkas growled irritably and turned away, going back to the training yard. He heard a flute start to play and he gritted his teeth, picking up his sword. Town full of morons celebrating the burning of a dead tree. He hacked at the dummy as the shadows lengthened, his mood not improving as he seethed over his brother and Edric. Now that they had no doubt consummated their relationship Vilkas had no chance at all of getting his twin away from the newblood. Short of Edric somehow meeting his end there was no hope whatsoever of setting Farkas to rights again.

It was full dark out when he heard someone come out the back doors. He smelled spice on the wind and instantly tensed up, squeezing the handle of his training sword so hard that it was amazing the steel didn’t warp in his hands. He could hear the remnants of a celebration still going on in the plaza below. He heard the soft scuff of a boot and it took every ounce of willpower he had not to spin around and lay into the whelp with the sword. He heard an exasperated sigh and his shoulders bunched up. “Why aren’t you still at your little party?” he spat.

“Not _my_ party,” Edric quietly stated. “It has nothing to do with me at all.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“Come on, Vilkas,” Edric pleaded. Vilkas turned slowly to look at him, his eyes like ice. Edric had recently bathed, his hair still damp, pulled back loosely from his face instead of braided as it usually was, and he was wearing a tunic and pants instead of his sleeveless steel armor. “We have to get along,” Edric demanded.

“No, we do not,” Vilkas sneered. The younger man folded his arms, his lips pursed.

“Yes we do. For Farkas’ sake. And maybe for your own.”

Vilkas growled, “I do not need your concern, whelp. The only thing I need is for you to leave.”

“Okay. So lets say I do just leave Jorrvaskr—”

“Yes, do that.”

Edric’s eyes narrowed. “Even if I just left, it wouldn’t change things for Farkas. It wouldn’t change who he is. It’s what he’s been all along.”

“It was never an issue before!”

“Because you made it impossible for him to talk to you about it!” Edric retorted. Vilkas bared his teeth at him in a snarl, and Edric put a hand over his face then let it fall. “Look, if you loved your brother you would want him to be happy—”

“If he loved me he would want the same for me!”

“He does want that. So go to Falkreath and ask Narri to marry you.”

Vilkas said in disgust, “Oh, of course. Because it is that easy. The blood is always howling inside me and I’m supposed to… Bah, you little bastard—”

“I told you I was.”

“Not funny!” Vilkas shouted as he advanced on Edric. The other man’s stance changed to one of easy readiness, his arms loose at his sides, no doubt ready to blast Vilkas with another paralyzing spell. He stopped a few feet away, so close he could smell the ale on Edric’s breath. He whispered harshly, “You will _ruin_ my brother. He should have a wife and children—”

“He’ll have a husband and children instead.”

The open admission was enraging, making Vilkas have to fight not to swing the great-sword at the newblood. Remove him from the equation. Put things back the way they were. The training sword was dull, but it would be easy enough to kill someone with it.

“They won’t be of his blood!” Vilkas protested.

“Is that all that matters?”

“Yes!”

Edric shrugged and grunted. “All right then. I suppose Kodlak means nothing to you after all. Since there’s no blood shared between you, and that’s all that matters, and the father you won’t admit to means everything, is that it?”

“You… _dare_ to mention Jergen to me!” Vilkas hissed.

“If Kodlak is the father of your heart then your statements make no sense! What does it matter if Farkas and I adopt—”

“You will never, _ever_ marry my brother,” Vilkas growled low, closing in on the smaller man. Edric backed away, his hands up. Vilkas barely noticed the bandage around his right hand, and didn’t particularly care. “You came out here just to rub my nose in it, didn’t you? He can’t be bothered to even say hello to me, and yet you are out here and shove it under my nose, that you are fucking around with my brother.”

“I’m trying to make you see sense, damn it! I’m trying to make peace with you!”

“There will never be peace between us! The only peace will come when one of us is in the ground!”

Edric’s eyes widened as he exclaimed in a disbelieving tone, “You crazy son of a bitch!”

“Oh, I am the crazy one? This from the man who tore apart Ulfric’s palace?” Vilkas was satisfied to see Edric’s nostrils flare as an expression of betrayal crossed his face. “Tell me, how long before you get my brother killed? How long before he ends up like Lydia, or Argis, or Ral—”

“Shut up!” Edric shouted.

Vilkas smirked and stated in a mocking tone, “Ralof. Ralof Ralof Ralof—” His breath rushed out of him in a _whoof_ as Edric tackled him around the middle. He landed on the cobblestones, barely catching himself before his head smacked on the ground. He lashed out and slugged Edric in the ribs, and the other man bellowed in a rage and smashed Vilkas' in return, making him cry out in pain as he felt his ribcage cave in. He landed another weaker blow to Edric’s shoulder, every breath burning, and he distantly heard the back doors of the mead hall burst open.

“I’m going to _fucking kill you!”_ Edric roared. He pulled back his fist for another strike when Farkas grabbed him from behind and hauled him off Vilkas.

Vilkas stared in shock as Edric thrashed like a madman then broke free, going after Vilkas again, and Farkas grit his teeth and grabbed for him again, this time Skjor and Athis helping to hold him back. Ria and Torvar looked on from the porch, the girl’s expression full of anxiety.

“What in Oblivion is going on here!” Skjor shouted. Edric was breathing heavily, his eyes wild, though it seemed he wasn’t about to try breaking free again. Skjor looked behind him at Vilkas, who was gingerly picking himself up off the ground, holding his right side. “Well?”

Vilkas said in breathless pain, “He is out of his mind, that’s what’s going on.”

Edric yelled, “You lying, evil motherfucker!”

“Calm down, damn you,” Skjor demanded. Edric made a sound of fury but contained himself, shaking with rage as he glared hatefully at Vilkas. “What happened?” he asked Edric.

“I came out here to make peace with him and he threw my dead husband in my face!”

Athis’ eyes widened in surprise while Farkas’ mouth fell open, a grieved look of dismay on his face. Ria gasped, putting her hand over her mouth.

Skjor shook his head and said to Vilkas, “That’s low even for you.”

“After he brought up Jergen!” Vilkas protested. He hugged his ribs and spat at the younger man, “At least I know who my father is, bastard!” Farkas made a choking sound of anger as Ria gasped again and Torvar snickered and Athis slowly shook his head in disapproval. Instead of getting angrier Edric went still and cold. Skjor stared at the young man in warning but Edric only had eyes for Vilkas.

“You’re going to choke on your words one day, you sadistic sack of shit,” Edric promised.

“Edric!” Farkas whispered in shock. Edric shook him and Athis off then stalked away, holding his own ribs. The dark elf shook his head again and looked at Skjor, who patted him on the shoulder, and the Dunmer left as well, following Edric inside, a frantic Ria on his heels.

Skjor turned to look at Vilkas, who growled, “He started it. I was out here minding my own business.”

Skjor stared evenly at him and said with a nod, “Uh huh. So when I go in there and ask Edric exactly how the conversation went, you’re going to come out smelling like roses, is that it? Edric came out here just to start a fight with you?”

“You heard him. He said he was going to kill me, and it isn’t the first time he’s said it!” Skjor shook his head, and Vilkas said to his brother, “You heard him!” Farkas stared back, a wounded expression on his face, then his twin lowered his eyes, his jaw clenched.

Skjor stated, “The whelp was pissed off, and rightly so. By the Nine, Vilkas, his dead husband? Are you that far gone?” Vilkas frowned and his eyes slid away.

Farkas said in a hurt voice, “I told him to stay away from you and leave you alone. You didn’t come in for dinner and he said it was stupid you two can’t get along and he swore you wouldn’t start arguing, so I let him go, and I shouldn’t have. I should’ve known this was gonna happen.”

“He started it!” Vilkas swore.

“How?” Skjor asked. Vilkas hesitated, and the old warrior said in disgust, “I thought as much.” Farkas growled and walked back to the mead hall, his body stiff with anger. Skjor watched him go, and Torvar lingered, watching them. Skjor pointed at the doors and the blond narrowed his eyes in irritation and went inside. He turned back to Vilkas, putting his hands on his hips. “This has _got_ to stop,” Skjor said in quiet warning.

“He shouldn't be here!” Vilkas angrily stated. His ribs were aching fiercely, stabbing with every breath.

“Kodlak wants him here. Does that mean nothing to you?”

Vilkas ignored the question and walked gingerly towards the porch and Skjor followed. Vilkas picked up the closest healing potion and downed it, feeling relief flow into him as his ribs knitted back together. By the Nine the little bastard could throw a punch.

“You saw how happy the old man was today. You’ve seen how having Edric here has lifted his spirits. He’s _dying,_ Vilkas,” Skjor said in a strained voice. “Do not add to his cares. Or mine.”

“Edric is upending everything here,” Vilkas said with resentment.

“Maybe so. Maybe it needs to be upended.” Vilkas made a scoffing sound of contempt. Skjor folded his arms and sat on the edge of the table as he went on, “Edric is trying to fit in here—”

“You honestly think he can do that?”

“He could if you gave him a chance.”

Vilkas laughed. “I should give _him_ a chance? Sure, I should bend over backwards to accommodate a whelp.”

“You should show some basic consideration to the person who saved not only your life but your brother’s.”

Vilkas scowled at that. Yes, he knew very well that he and Farkas both would be dead right now if not for Edric. But that didn’t give Edric the right to screw everything up here. It didn't give Edric the right to insinuate himself into nearly every aspect of the Companions after only a few weeks here. Vilkas didn't care who or what he was, Edric didn't have the right to even be here no matter who had invited him. He was the goddamned Dragonborn and he could have gone just about anywhere but Jorrvaskr.

Skjor went on, “If you had any sense you would give in to the blood—” Vilkas shook his head curtly, growling in irritation. “Only until Kodlak has his cure. Go ahead and give up the gift, I don’t care at this point. But you are the only one causing any problems here, brother, and it’s because of your handling of the beastblood. You are the one the whelps are afraid of, the one the Circle worries over, the one stressing Kodlak and your twin. Edric has been a valuable addition to our order.”

“Oh, yes, of course he has,” Vilkas said bitterly. “Wonderful, lovely little Edric. So skilled. So special. We should all be grateful that the illustrious hero has finally decided to grace us all with his presence here.” Skjor stared at him for a long moment through that single silver eye, with Vilkas staring back, mentally daring him to admit it, then the Harbinger lifted his chin and nodded once.

“I see.” There would probably be no more admission than that, but it was an admission.

Vilkas said in a tone of desperation, “He threatened to kill me, damn it! On the job, before we had even gotten to Dustman’s Cairn!”

“If I considered you a danger to Whiterun, I would kill you myself.”

Vilkas went pale, staring at Skjor in alarm, then he swallowed and lowered his eyes. Skjor was his forebear, and that hurt to hear. The old warrior’s statement had been made without malice, stated as simple fact. There had been malice in Edric’s threat though. Vilkas didn’t doubt that Edric was well on his way to hating him just as much as he despised the newblood.

Skjor went on matter-of-factly, “If Edric wanted you dead, he would have had a very handy opportunity in the Cairn. He could have let you get killed at any point and when we went to reclaim the body there would have been no questions asked.”

“He only saved me because of Farkas.”

“He and Farkas weren’t together at that point.” Skjor’s eye narrowed. “Don’t think I don’t know that _that_ is the root of the problem between you and the lad. I’m not going to get into it with you, because frankly I still think it’s a little weird, whatever arrangement you and Farkas used to have, but I’m telling you right now that your brother’s business is his own. Every man and woman here has the right to follow their own path, and no one else can determine that for them. Farkas is a grown man and has been for a very, very long time. You keep going the way you are and you will alienate everyone in this hall. You’ve already lost everyone’s trust—”

“It’s the blood’s fault,” Vilkas said helplessly.

Skjor sputtered in derision as he stood away from the table. “Bullshit excuse,” he stated with impatience, making a cutting motion with his hands. “You chose this, Vilkas. You chose to give up your transformations, which means you’ve chosen to have these problems. You can still take the cure when it’s found. You don’t have to put yourself and all the rest of us through all this shit. You’re not proving anything to anyone, except that your judgment should be doubted.” Vilkas’ mouth pursed as he looked past the Harbinger, glowering. “The anniversary of the Battle of Solitude is in five days. You say one word to Edric about it, or his dead husband, and I’m going to let him have you. There _might_ be enough left of you afterwards to drag down the hill to Danica.”

“Nice,” Vilkas said in aggravation.

“You started the fight. We both know that. Maybe you even goaded him into hitting you first to give you a reason to hit back, knowing you can heal and he can’t.”

His eyes widened as he stated, “That is _not_ true.” That accusation hurt. It hadn’t been anywhere in his mind. In hindsight he wasn’t really sure what he had been thinking. He had intended to needle the younger man, certainly, but he had expected Edric to lose his temper and stalk off, not attack him. And here Vilkas was whole with not even a bruise to show for the encounter, while Edric had left holding his side in pain.

“Aela thinks you should be caged. Should you?” Vilkas shook his head curtly. Skjor made a sound of exasperation and muttered, “Shor’s bones, Vilkas, his dead husband?”

“He leaves death in his wake,” Vilkas said in a defensive tone. “Two housecarls and Ralof. I do not want my brother to be next, that is all I said.”

“And just like that, I’m sure. All three died doing their jobs. He insisted when he joined us that no shield-siblings go with him on jobs unless there’s no other choice.”

“Probably because he doesn’t want to get caught fighting a dragon and have himself outed to everyone when he takes its soul.”

Skjor shrugged. “Yes, that is one of the reasons. He wants to earn his place here on his own merits as a warrior, without his status coloring anyone’s opinion. He also wants to keep Ulfric off his back as long as possible.” He narrowed his eye. “Don’t even dream—”

“I am not so petty!” Vilkas protested. It was a relief though to hear Skjor admit to it, that Edric was Dragonborn. Even if he had seen Edric shout with his own eyes and heard it with his own ears, he still feared that people would think he was out of his mind if he told anyone.

The Harbinger turned away, saying, “You taunted a widower. Doesn’t matter who he is. I’m not putting much of anything past you anymore.”

Vilkas scowled at Skjor’s back until the older man went inside. He huffed with mixed hurt and lingering anger as he went back to the yard to retrieve his training sword. He and Edric both were lucky to have not been impaled on it, dull or not.

He put the sword away, feeling lonely, and a touch guilty, and still irritated, but most of all lonely. He had never been terribly sociable, insofar as making small talk, but it wasn’t as if he didn’t find sitting with his shield-siblings pleasant. And training with them. Now he could do neither, because no one wanted him around, because of the damned beastblood. Even his own twin, the one person who could tolerate him even at his worst, didn’t want him around. Didn’t seek out his company. And why should Farkas, when he had such fair company now, who did all the things for him Vilkas once had, and warmed his bed too? It was pretty much impossible to compete with that.

When he went inside the mead hall he didn’t even bother to glance at the tables. He didn’t want to meet anyone’s eyes or even see who was there. He didn’t care. This place was going to Oblivion and he couldn’t stop it, and Edric was at the heart of it all. He had started everything on its downhill slide when he’d walked into Jorrvaskr the day he had captured the dragon Odahviing. Whatever he had told the old man that day had set all these events in motion. There was hardly a single thing of any significance that had happened in Skryim for four years now that Edric hadn’t stuck his dainty fingers into.

When Vilkas reached the living area he saw Kodlak’s outer doors closed, and he growled low to himself in protective anger, certain that the whelp was in there pouring his guts out to the old man, getting him all stirred up. He turned down his hall and saw Farkas’ door closed as well, and he stopped there, resisting the urge to go pound on it and demand that his brother just come out and make a choice between Vilkas or Edric, but he knew how that would go, and the little voice of reason that grew ever more infrequent told him that the kind of person who would force a choice like that wasn’t worth choosing.

He heard the rumble of his twin’s deep voice, and he pulled off his hard-soled boots and walked softly over to listen at the door. He dreaded hearing something intimate, and it was silent for a moment before he heard Farkas’ voice again, soothing and sorrowful.

“My poor sweetheart.”

Vilkas sneered in disgust, shaking his head. You couldn’t call another man sweetheart, no matter how much smaller than you they were. He heard a sob then a sniff, and his eyebrows rose in shock. Edric was…crying. He was actually crying.

“I just…I miss him so much. I kissed him goodbye when we reached Solitude and he went to his unit and I never saw him again. Well, I mean…” Edric sniffed hard. “I never even visited his grave. I couldn’t do it. I still can’t. I’m a fucking coward.”

“God, my poor baby. I’ll go with you, if you want.”

Another sniff. “I can’t. I’m not ready. It still hurts too much.” Edric’s voice hardened. “And then…then that _asshole_ brother of yours, throwing it in my face like that. It isn’t my…Vilkas tried to make it seem like it was my fault! I tried to keep Ray— I tried to keep him out of the battle and he wouldn’t let me! He begged me not to tell anyone we were married or keep him out of the fighting, but he was a soldier, we both were, what else could I do but let him go?” he wept furiously.

Vilkas shuddered and backed away from the door, blinking rapidly, then he fled into his room and nearly slammed the door shut, catching it just before it connected. He eased it closed then woodenly walked over to his bed and slowly sat down on it, dropping the boots next to it. He stared at the room divider, trying to swallow down the lump in his throat, and failing. He squeezed his eyes shut but images of a burnt and ruined face appeared, making him gasp and his eyes fly open. _You are small, Vilkas,_ the voice whispered. _Small. Cruel. Petty. Mean._

He took a deep breath and stood again, numbly going to the mannequin in his room where his armor stood. Yes, he was all those things. He didn’t used to be. He had never had his brother’s soft heart, but he had never been unkind either. He had never been malicious. He would never have dreamed of rubbing someone’s nose in the death of their loved ones. He would never have tolerated anyone mistreating any of the whelps or threatening his family, and at the moment the only threat Vilkas could see to the Companions was himself.

He stripped off his clothes then dressed in the leather pants and doublet that went under his armor. He then donned his armor, feeling miserable. He wasn’t really sure where he was going, but he wasn’t staying here. Not tonight, at least. When he was geared up and ready to leave he sorted through the contracts on his dresser and found one that would get him a decent distance away from here, for a good four or five days if he took his time, and he intended to. Bandits had taken up residence in Robber’s Gorge yet again, extorting travelers and pretending to be soldiers of Hjaalmarch, and Jarl Sorli had put a sizable bounty on their heads.

It took less than an hour to get armored and ready to go. It wasn’t the best idea to leave on a job at this hour, which had to be close to seven at night, but it wouldn’t be the first time a Companion had done so, usually after receiving a desperate missive to rescue a kidnap victim or apprehend a criminal when the hold guards couldn’t cross borders to do so, though they never left alone unless it was an emergency. He left his room, not bothering to be quiet about it, and when he paused in the hall he heard only silence from his twin’s room. Farkas’ bed was much too small for a bedmate, was barely able to contain just Farkas, and it was bad form to share a bed in that way under Jorrvaskr’s roof, but as Skjor had made clear—and Edric, and Aela, and Kodlak—it was none of Vilkas’ damn business. But if he _ever_ heard them going at it in there he was going to raise hell.

He paused at the end of the living quarters, grabbing some healing and stamina potions, and as he did so he heard a door open and his twin’s familiar footsteps. He ignored them, wondering if Farkas was going to get his little darling something to drink, since it seemed Edric couldn’t go more than a couple hours without one. It was odd that someone like the Dragonborn, someone with such incredible willpower that he could fight a demigod while half dead, who could drag himself up and down a mountain while crippled, couldn’t control such a behavior. As Edric had admitted however, he didn’t want to stop. Vilkas had seen plenty of alcoholics and it was obvious when drink was taking its toll, but Edric showed no physical signs of it. Maybe it was the dragon blood keeping him healthy, who knew. It was still pathetic.

“Where are you going this late?” The worry in Farkas’ voice was obvious, as was the lingering anger.

Vilkas didn't look at him as he tersely replied, “Out.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to get into it.” Well, he did, but he knew if he did that he would lose his temper. Again.

“You shouldn’t go out on a job alone.”

“And yet I am.” He stowed the potions in his pack then slung it onto his shoulder, and Farkas grabbed his other to stop him. He narrowed his eyes at his brother, and when he smelled cinnamon it made Vilkas’ lip curl as he growled, “I smell him on you.” Farkas’ hand fell away and he stepped back as his cheeks turned pink, but he didn’t look away. “Where is he?”

“Asleep.” Farkas’ expression hardened as he stated, “He just about cried himself to sleep because of you.”

Vilkas’ jaw clenched as his mouth twisted, and he struggled for a moment before muttering, “What I said was uncalled for. He tried to make peace, and I didn’t wish to.” Farkas sighed and looked at him sadly. It was as close to an apology as Vilkas could get. He hitched his pack higher on his shoulder and walked past his twin. “And I still don’t wish to. Keep him away from me. Far away.”

He yanked the door open and left, hearing his brother softly calling his name, telling him to wait, but Farkas didn’t come after him, and Vilkas didn’t expect him to. It wasn’t hard to choose between the brother that made everything difficult and the sweet-faced, sweet-smelling dragon in his bed. It had no doubt reduced Farkas to mush to have his little lover sobbing in his arms. Farkas had probably petted and soothed him right to sleep.

A sudden heavy ache in his chest made Vilkas huff to himself as he passed through the mead hall, and he sensed others around the fire but ignored their existence. He couldn’t get out of Jorrvaskr fast enough. This job was a bit much for a single Companion to handle, but he would do so more than adequately. And if he wasn’t adequate for it, well, that would solve Edric’s problem and his own quite neatly, at least on this plane. The thought sent a thrill of fear through him. _No._ No damn way he was going to die while his soul was still unclean. Knowing his luck, Edric would take the blood and end up in the Hunting Grounds too someday, and then he’d never be free of the little bastard.

He passed through the plaza, and he had to stop for a moment to stare. It was shocking to see the sky so empty within the circle of trellises that ringed the area. The smell of smoke was still strong in the air, but nothing remained of the old Gildergreen but the ash that the three adherents of Kynareth were happily mixing into the damp soil around the little tree with their bare hands, the sleeves of their robes rolled up to the elbows. The thing was just as puny as Skjor had joked, but it was vibrantly alive, covered in blossoms, its bark glistening with health in the torchlight.

Danica glanced up and smiled brilliantly at him, happier than he had seen her in years, a smudge of dirt or ash across her forehead. He nodded to her, unable to summon up a smile of his own, and forced himself to approach. The benches had been put back into place, and she stood and dusted off her hands while Jenssen and Ahlam continued planting the sapling, something they’d no doubt had to wait to do until the soil had cooled. It was odd that there wasn’t even a stump left, only bare ashy ground. The crowd had dispersed except for the few guards who usually patrolled the area, lending their torchlight to the work.

“Hail Companion,” the priestess said as she came up to him. “It is a glorious day for Whiterun, isn’t it? Who would have thought, a baby Gildergreen of all things. And yet it is fitting. Fresh starts and new life. Change. It is what Kynareth is all about, yeah? It shames me to think of how long I had forgotten that.”

“Aye,” he muttered. Vilkas frowned at the tree and said, “Some of the flowers are red. Where did the tree come from?”

Danica looked confused. “Didn’t you talk to your brother?” Vilkas shook his head. Danica eyed him with a much too thoughtful expression for a moment before saying, “The tree came from the Eldergleam Sanctuary, in the volcanic tundra of Eastmarch.” Vilkas nodded, having heard of the place. “Edric prayed to Kynareth, through the Eldergleam, to tell him what to do to repair the Gildergreen. She told him to mix his blood with the earth at the tree’s feet. When he did, a sapling sprouted. Farkas and two worshipers saw this miracle with their own eyes.” Vilkas was horrified by that, staring at her in shock. Danica shrugged. “We must not forget that Kynareth is only the more gentle aspect of Kyne, and the Mother of Men and Beasts is not afraid to ask for a sacrifice. That is why the baby tree is streaked with red: it is borne of Edric’s blood. Gruesome, it is true, but as with the destruction of the old tree, it is Kyne’s message to us: sometimes the old must die and blood must be shed to bring about new life.”

“Eh…aye,” Vilkas said in an uncertain tone. Now that he thought about it, there had been a bandage around Edric’s right hand earlier that evening. Maybe that was where he had cut himself to sprout the tree. A superstitious shiver ran down Vilkas’ spine. Magic was one thing; he didn’t like it one bit, but he had seen enough of it that he could handle it, just barely. This though…this was the work of the Divine. A miracle, just as Danica had said.

“Edric is blessed of Kynareth. I can see the touch of the goddess on him when he prays in the temple.”

“Yeah…” He scratched his chin, debating, then said to hell with it. No one had told him to keep it to himself, and the matter had been nagging at him since the day of Edric’s fight with Skjor. He lowered his voice and said, “About Edric. I’ve been wondering… He said he saw a special healer earlier this summer. One who was able to fix old wounds, remove scars and such. Have you ever heard of such a thing? Because I have not.” He watched with interest as Danica pulled back slightly and swallowed hard, looking almost ill. “So you have.” Interesting.

“Aye…the face sculptor, people were calling her,” Danica muttered in a low voice. “Face butcher is more like it. It is an abomination, an unclean combination of a healer’s and chirurgeon’s skills. She was to be found in Riften until recently, but word is that she left one night this summer and didn’t return.” She wrinkled her nose. “I had no idea Edric had done such a thing. What type of wounds would drive someone to take such a risk?”

Vilkas hesitated, suddenly regretting saying a word. He couldn’t say anything else without exposing Edric; Danica wasn’t slow like Farkas and would figure out who Edric was in a heartbeat.

Danica clucked her tongue at his hesitation and said, “Well, that is his business, I suppose.”

“Aye. However…he can no longer heal magically. This mysterious healer operated on him so extensively that potions and spells no longer work on him.” Danica made a sound of dismay and clutched at her amulet, closing her eyes. “You’ve heard of this happening before?” She nodded slowly. Well, Vilkas had seen the evidence with his own eyes.

“It happens, sometimes, when someone has used healing magic too often, over a long period of time. Old soldiers and adventurers. Combatants in the Imperial Arena. The body becomes resistant to it, as if the magic no longer sees the wounds.” Her eyes opened as her expression hardened. “Pardon my saying so, but what on Nirn is he doing as a Companion? That is no line of work for someone with that kind of disability! Is he out of his mind?”

Vilkas said in a sour tone, “I suppose he thinks he is too good to get wounded.”

“No one is!” Vilkas made a noncommittal sound and was relieved when she left it at that. Danica shook her head and went on, “Well then, he had better watch his back, or keep a shield-sibling around to watch it for him. I would talk to the Harbinger about it if I thought it would make a difference, but your newblood has a stubborn streak.” She let her hand fall from her amulet. “I will spend my morning devotions tomorrow praying to Kynareth to watch over him. She has blessed him with this little child tree, so it is clear she favors him.”

“That would be appreciated. Good evening, Danica.”

“You too, Companion.”

Vilkas let out a long breath as he headed down to the Plains District, hoping to catch Carlotta before her stall closed. She was just putting her stock away and he was able to get rations for the road, though she was clearly reluctant to serve him, pushing her daughter behind her when she saw him coming. As he stowed the supplies in his pack he saw everyone watching him warily, and he had to force down the flush of humiliation it caused. He damn well knew he deserved it. It was more than a little frightening to know that it was only a matter of time before the beast overcame him again and eroded his control, or Edric opened his mouth and pushed Vilkas’ temper to its limits.

He stopped into the Bannered Mare for a quick dinner then set out again, eager to leave. As he made his way down the street out of town he passed Breezehome, and he kept his mind turned away from thoughts of Lydia as best he could. If he could just get cured he would manage just fine. He had never been a wonderful person, but he had always been honorable, a trusted member of the Circle, admired and looked up to by the other Companions and the folk of Whiterun, and he had always been sought after for his company in the bedroom or at the bar for a tale. It hurt to feel the stares on his back, to not hear the usual greetings he had long ago gotten used to. It hurt to see women avoiding his eyes, as if afraid to catch his attention.

Kodlak said he knew who held the cure for their curse but wasn’t sure what the cure itself was. The old man was certain that the cure resided with those from whom the curse had originated: the Glenmoril Witches. The day of Edric’s ceremony the two of them had batted back and forth finding some way to capture one of the creatures and force the answers out of her, but the risk was too great; there were five of the witches residing together in their coven, and even if someone managed to catch one of them it was doubtful she would give up the secret to a cure. Towards the end of the conversation Vilkas had had the poor judgment to snidely suggest that Edric could probably find some way of accomplishing all that and Kodlak had tersely dismissed him.

He passed through the city gates, lost in thought, wondering how long he could manage to stay away from Jorrvaskr. Away from home. Edric’s presence had made Vilkas’ own home an intolerable place to be. He had nowhere else to go, either. At this point he didn’t dare seek the comfort of a woman for fear of losing control. The last go with Narri had seriously tested it, only his brother’s calming presence making it manageable. It wasn’t as if he preferred sharing women with his twin; it just happened sometimes, and it had made things easier for him this last year while he struggled with the blood. But he still wanted Farkas to be an integral part of his life, and how could that be when Farkas was with someone Vilkas couldn’t tolerate? But then maybe Edric wouldn’t be so intolerable once Vilkas was cured.

Vilkas growled to himself as a surge of anger and loss went through him again. Sure, Farkas could marry Edric, and Vilkas marry Narri; Farkas would have no children of his own, and Vilkas’ children would have no real cousins. Their lives would still not be what Vilkas wanted, what they had both agreed to. Maybe a cure was within their grasp and Vilkas could be a normal man again and have a wife and family, but he’d be damned if he got cured before Farkas did. No way in Oblivion that was going to happen. He had Farkas’ word that he would comply when Vilkas asked him for that promised favor. He still had that in reserve, and by Ysmir he planned to use it.


	19. Chapter 19

** Farkas – 12th of Frostfall, 4E205 **

“Come on,” Farkas growled at Torvar. “Pull your head out of your ass and pay attention.” The blond grumbled and raised his shield half-heartedly, blinking eyes that were tell-tale red. The guy always stank of liquor these days. To be fair, Edric usually smelled like booze too, but at least he never let it have any negative effect on his job, or his behavior. Farkas couldn’t figure out why Torvar even bothered trying, if you wanted to call this trying. Farkas shook his head and put the training sword on his shoulder. “Forget about it,” he muttered tiredly. “We’re done here.”

“Sure,” Torvar said with a nod. “Yeah.” He carelessly tossed the shield on the ground and walked inside the mead hall, his gait slightly unsteady.

Farkas grit his teeth, trying to keep a rein on his irritation. It had been challenging today; Torvar was being a jackass, and it had been a little over two weeks since Farkas had hunted, and he was feeling it. He had pushed it out as far as he could, fearful of a repeat of the last time. Even if he and Edric were a couple now, he still didn’t want to slobber and hump on him like a horny dog, and he was still deeply fearful of mauling the smaller man accidentally.

He bent down to pick up the shield then took it and his sword to the weapons rack, then he leaned against the sun-warmed rock and let out a long breath, forcing the tension away as he turned his face up to the sky to enjoy the fall sunshine. He would have been a lot more tense if he hadn’t been with Edric. The last four days back home had been so pleasant, so…cozy. He hated sleeping apart at night after getting used to togetherness on their vacation, but even if he'd had a double bed it would have looked bad. They retreated to Farkas’ room after dinner every night to spend a few hours together, making love and talking a bit, listening to Edric play the lute, then Edric had to get dressed again and go sleep in the whelps’ quarters. It hurt every time he left, but they didn’t have a choice. Not yet. Not until Edric joined the Circle. And he couldn’t do that until Kodlak passed on.

Farkas wondered if he should check on the old man. Vilkas was still away on that job he had left on four nights ago. It worried Farkas deeply that his twin was out by himself, not only because of the danger to himself but because he’d have no one there to rein him in if he started acting crazy. Farkas had worried about it off and on the entire time Vilkas was gone but had kept his worries to himself; Skjor and Aela would not be sympathetic, Kodlak didn’t need the worry, and everyone else was just relieved that Vilkas wasn’t around making everyone tense. Farkas had told Edric that Vilkas had admitted his words the night he left had been uncalled for, and Edric had said with resentment that while he appreciated that, it would have meant more coming from Vilkas. Farkas had left the matter alone after that.

After a few minutes of soaking up the sun, Farkas pushed away from the wall to go in and check on Kodlak. Edric was keeping a good eye on the old man but was out hunting deer on the plains with Ria to get meat for the hall. Skjor and Aela were off doing…well, whatever. Probably harassing the Silver Hand again, something Farkas was starting to wonder if he should help with; Edric’s description of the things he had found in their lairs was upsetting to say the least. Njada and Athis were probably around but stayed out of the Harbinger’s quarters. Tilma was no doubt busy with her own work, the constant cooking and cleaning it took to keep the mead hall running, though she checked on Kodlak frequently during the course of the day.

When he went inside he saw Torvar sitting at the table drinking, and Farkas had to clench his jaw shut to keep from barking at the drunk. This was getting to be ridiculous. Thank the Nine that they did have Edric here or things really would be going to Oblivion, he thought, with Kodlak dying, Vilkas unstable, and Skjor and Aela off hunting the hunters. Farkas felt like the only member of the Circle who could be regularly depended on anymore.

He found Kodlak napping, though the thick, rasping sound coming from his open mouth was like nails on slate, unbearable to listen to. He let the old man be and went back upstairs, his heart heavy. It wouldn’t be the same around here without Kodlak, though at least they had a solid Harbinger in Skjor. Well, if Skjor was ever around. Once Kodlak passed on Skjor would take the Harbinger’s quarters, and a spot in the Circle would open up for Edric, and Skjor’s quarters would open up as well. Skjor’s room had a double bed. And it was on the opposite side of the hall from Vilkas, so any…sounds wouldn’t bother him. If Edric took the beastblood he would bond with Farkas, and among werewolves that was as good as married, and then they might as well share quarters. It was better than married, really; marriages could be dissolved, hard as that was, but a mating bond was forever. Or at least until one died. Or was cured, maybe.

Well, that was Edric’s decision, and he hadn’t said another word about it, and Farkas hadn’t brought it up again. He wished he hadn’t brought it up to begin with, worried that it would sway his beloved’s decision, but he had only wanted to be honest. He agreed with Kodlak that anyone thinking about taking the blood should be told everything about it first. Farkas and his brother hadn’t been told anything more than that it was necessary to join the beast world in order to join the Circle, and they hadn’t questioned it.

As he was coming up the stairs he heard the front door of the hall open, and when he came up he saw Torvar talking to what looked to be a courier. The young man was leaning back, his nose wrinkled in disgust, no doubt from the reek of mead on the Companion’s breath.

“Come on, I’ll make sure he gets it,” Torvar said in a persuasive tone. He was _trying_ to be persuasive, that was. And it wasn’t working.

“I’m sorry Companion, but I’m only to deliver it to Edric or Farkas. No exceptions.” The courier looked up at the sound of heavy booted feet approaching, and he looked the big warrior over and sighed in obvious relief. “And you must be Farkas,” he stated.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Farkas muttered, glaring at Torvar, who was sauntering back to the table like nothing had happened. What in Oblivion had the guy been trying to do, steal Edric's package? And why, other than to be an ass?

“Special delivery from Solitude,” the courier stated. When Farkas reached him he handed over the stiff leather pouch, about six inches square. The young man saluted him then said, “I’ve already been paid, so I’ll be on my way.”

“Yeah, thanks.” As the courier left Farkas untied the fastener and peeked inside, and he felt his heart soar when he saw two full sets of gut strings. Edric must have ordered them almost immediately after mentioning it two weeks ago.

Happy and warm, Farkas took them with him to the table, grabbing a sweetroll the color of his beloved’s hair as he took a seat. He nibbled on the pastry, thinking of how glad Edric would be to see the strings. Farkas couldn’t wait to hear what the lute would sound like with a new, full set. Maybe one day Edric would feel comfortable enough that he could play up here for everyone.

The sound of an empty bottle rolling across the table then falling to the floor with a clank startled him, and he narrowed his eyes at Torvar, who was reaching for a full bottle, either not knowing or caring that the other one had fallen.

As the blond pulled out the cork he saw Farkas glaring at him, and he made a sputtering sound as he asked, “What’re you looking at?”

“Just starting to wonder what the point is of keeping you around,” Farkas answered in a menacing tone.

Torvar laughed in derision. “Riiiight. You all let me in. I’m a full Companion. Ain’t no getting rid of me now.”

“Won’t have to. All we’d have to do is let your jobs dry up and lock up all the drink.”

“Uh huh. My father might have something to say about that.”

Farkas’ eyes narrowed as he said with true anger, “The Companions answer to no Jarl.” Well that was it then. The second Skjor got back Farkas was going to have a word with him. Sure, every Companion was his own man, but they were all supposed to be able to depend on each other. Even Vilkas in his current state would never let down a shield-sibling on a job. Torvar wasn’t putting any effort into training and was going on jobs not drunk but definitely inebriated. He wasn’t bringing honor to the Companions, and he certainly wasn’t bringing any to himself. In fact it seemed he had stopped even trying after Edric showed up. Well it wasn’t Edric’s fault he was destined for the Circle and Torvar wasn’t. Even if Edric hadn’t been Dragonborn he would have been headed that way, simply because he had spent the last fourteen years making something of himself. Torvar had barely even tried, and now he wasn’t trying at all.

“Yeah? How about a king?”

Farkas snorted in contempt. “You’re nothing to Ulfric.”

“My father is one of his biggest supporters.”

“And Ulfric respects the Companions,” Farkas countered. “Give it up.” As big as the High King was on Nord traditions, there was no way Ulfric would try to influence the heirs of Ysgramor into keeping around a useless member who was bringing embarrassment to the guild. The king observed the Feast of the Dead every year, without fail, standing there as the Harbinger read the names of the Five Hundred original Companions, without so much as fidgeting. Even Farkas had to fidget when they started getting into the H names or thereabouts.

He picked up his half-eaten sweetroll and the pouch and headed downstairs, pretty sure that if he stayed up in the hall he was going to end up bludgeoning Torvar, and then there really might be problems with Skald the Elder. Most of the Jarls knew better than to get on the Companions’ bad side—that was a quick way to find your hold filling up fast with bandits and outlaws—but it didn’t pay to provoke any of them without cause. Sooner or later though, Torvar was going to give the Circle cause.

Farkas set the pouch next to the lute, wondering if he should build some kind of stand for it. That was a pretty big project for him, but he spent more time cooling his heels in Jorrvaskr than he liked, and Edric wasn’t always around, so Farkas needed to do something to stay busy. Maybe next time he passed through Riverwood he’d see if Gerdur and Hod had any straight-grain oak that was cured and ready to use. He then sighed sadly, with a hint of frustration. If he went to Riverwood it wouldn’t be with Edric; Gerdur and Hod were his former in-laws, and Ralof’s grave was there. Sweet as his beloved was, Edric had firmly shut the door on his past after that last fight with Vilkas. He had awakened in the middle of the night and left Farkas’ tiny bed and quarters without waking him, somehow, and in the morning it had been like nothing had happened, and every day since he had carefully avoided giving away anything halfway important or revealing.

Over a week they had been a couple, and it had been a nice week. Farkas just hoped that before much longer Edric would really open up to him. Fully trust him. The weather was dry and crisp; maybe they could camp outside the city tonight and Farkas could try to get him to talk a little more. Farkas could hunt and get it out of the way then they could lay out some bedrolls in the field and make love in the grass. Really make love, if Farkas could bring himself to do it. They were pretty familiar with each other’s bodies by now, but Farkas was still apprehensive about taking Edric, afraid of hurting him, and Edric hadn’t mentioned it again. Farkas sure as hell wasn’t going to be the one to bring it up.

He returned to the yard, ignoring Torvar on the way out and trying not to feel faintly uneasy about everything. The last four days had been sweet, but partly because Vilkas had been gone, and Vilkas would be back any day now and the tension would return with him. Kodlak would continue dying a bit more every day. Torvar would get drunker and drunker until he was completely useless, which he nearly was now. The Silver Hand would continue being a threat and Aela and Skjor would keep leaving Jorrvaskr short-handed while they dealt with it. And Edric would leave in the spring, heading off to a war that might be the death of him, Dragonborn or not. It wasn’t all that hard to see why Vilkas was having trouble coping with everything that was going on; if Farkas thought about it too hard he might too.

After another hour of training Farkas grew bored and lonely and was ready to go back inside when he heard familiar voices coming around the south side of Jorrvaskr. He happily went to meet Edric and Ria halfway, the two younger Companions carrying a headless, gutted deer tied to a long pole slung between them on their shoulders.

He smiled broadly at them and Ria said with glee, “What a hunt, Farkas! You wouldn’t believe the morning we had. We saw a dragon!”

Farkas’ smile faltered as he glanced at Edric, who gazed back with a lack of concern. Too much of a lack. It hurt that Edric was so good at that. Farkas came over to take one end of the pole from Ria, though he couldn’t put it on his shoulder without throwing it all out of whack.

As the two men carried the deer to the back porch, Ria went on in an excited tone, “We were out in the fields to the northeast of town, by the river. We were cleaning out the deer when we heard a roar. We hid next to some rocks and Edric cast a chameleon spell on us until it passed.”

“A what spell?” Farkas asked in confusion.

“Chameleon. It makes you blend in with the background. Kind of like invisibility, but you can still move around and do stuff.” She practically skipped after the men as she continued, “My cousin in Leyawiin had a pet chameleon growing up. It’s right across the river from Blackwood, you know. Leyawiin, I mean.”

“Still not getting you.”

Ria made a sound of exasperation as the men set down the deer and slid out the pole supporting it. “What’s to get?” she asked as she sat down.

Farkas hung up the deer from a hook under the roof of the porch. It was pretty much bled out by now but still needed to be skinned so it could finish cooling off and hanged to loosen up, the carcass still stiff in death. “What’s a chameleon, and why would anyone have one for a pet, and why’s a spell named after it?”

“Ohhh. It’s a little lizard that lives in the trees, where it’s warm. It can change color. Shades of brown and green, to blend in.”

“Gotcha.” The spell made sense now, anyway.

Edric and Farkas set to skinning the hide from the carcass as Ria continued, “They’re kind of weird looking. Big kind of googly eyes that can move around different directions from each other. Weird little hands and feet. I remember holding my cousin’s and it would grip my finger just so. They’re ugly but kind of cute too. They’ve got big long tongues that can stretch out and grab bugs.”

“Sounds disgusting.” Edric laughed quietly, and when Farkas looked at him he was smiling. He couldn’t help smiling back, though he was still worried about the dragon. When Edric’s smile grew warmer as his gaze softened, it was all Farkas could do not to lean forward and kiss him. He would have if Ria wasn’t there, and when he glanced at the girl she raised her eyebrows and nodded, grinning, as if encouraging him to go ahead and do it. He laughed and shook his head, his face warming.

Ria said in delight, “Mara’s sake, you two are cute.”

Edric said in mock offense, “Go get your jollies somewhere else, woman.”

“Oh fine, fine. I’ll go tell Tilma we got the deer.” She got up and turned her back to Edric. “Ticks.”

Edric gave her a quick scan then said, “You’re good.” She smiled at him then scampered inside. “We’re cute,” he muttered, making Farkas snort a laugh.

They continued stripping off the hide, and every so often Farkas would steal a glance at his beloved, but his gaze was no longer met, Edric’s expression one of complete neutrality. He stifled a sigh, resisting the urge to say something about the dragon. Edric seemed like he didn’t want to talk about it, or anything else. But surely he didn’t expect Farkas to just say nothing about a dragon.

He continued helping Edric with the deer hide, but it was hard to focus on even such a simple task when the smell of meat and blood was so strong, right there in front of him. He really shouldn’t have gone so long without a hunt, but he couldn’t bear the thought of pawing and humping on Edric again. The thought was horrifying, even if his love was a good sport about it. Still, it had been too long. It would be nice to get a deer this time, something that would be a bit more satisfying, but bringing down one of those was hard without at least two other members of the pack to help corner it.

“Farkas.”

Edric could probably help, but using a bow or magic would kind of be cheating, though he could probably help chase a deer Farkas’ direction. The rabbits really hadn’t been much of a challenge, though the gift of one had made Edric happy. The meat had gone into a stew and the hide was sitting under Edric’s bed, stretched and salted while it cured. Farkas wasn’t sure what Edric was going to make of it, but it was sweet that he had kept it. Maybe Farkas could hunt him another—

“Farkas!”

He blinked to clear his mind of wolfish thoughts, feeling Edric gently nudge his arm with his elbow. He looked down and saw the younger man looking at him with concern, and Farkas drew in a deep breath and went back to pulling the hide. It had definitely been too long. He’d never gotten quite that distracted before, and it was embarrassing. He didn’t want to think of what his face must have looked like while he was doing that.

Edric murmured, “Maybe we should go out tonight.”

“Yeah,” Farkas said with a nod, his cheeks warm.

“It’s okay. Really.”

“I uh, just don’t want a repeat, that’s all.”

“Is that why you waited so long?” Farkas nodded. Edric sighed and continued skinning the deer as he stated, “This probably wasn’t the best thing for you to help me with, considering.”

“I’m good. Just distracted.”

“I said your name about four times.” Farkas grunted, frowning. “What’s the longest you went before?” Edric asked.

“A week maybe.”

Edric shook his head and muttered, “I don’t know how Vilkas is doing it. I really don’t.”

“It’s a contest at this point. With himself, I guess. He always has to win. He’s always been that way.”

“That must’ve been fun, growing up,” Edric said dryly.

Farkas shrugged. “I usually just let him win.”

“Does he know that?”

The question wasn’t any more comfortable now than when Edric had asked him the morning after saving his life, though it had been about his not preferring women. To his relief Edric didn’t press when Farkas didn’t answer. He didn’t want things to be awkward with his man, and Vilkas was an awkward subject between them. Almost as awkward a subject as Edric’s past. As much as he tried to be patient, Farkas couldn’t help that it bothered him. He wanted Edric to trust him. He wanted Edric to love him. Edric clearly didn’t do either all the way if he was hiding who he was. Still.

Well, maybe after tomorrow things would open up some more. Maybe that was why Edric had been a little closed off, worrying about a day that was bound to be painful. Edric hadn’t said a word about it, either. Farkas honestly couldn’t say what was on Edric’s mind, as good as the younger man was at hiding his thoughts and feelings. That was just going to have to stop. Farkas would give him another week or so, to get past some painful anniversaries, then he was going to have to go to Kodlak and confess that he knew who Edric was and see if the old man had any advice on how to go about getting him to open up. Maybe he was just expecting too much. He couldn’t expect Edric to fall head over heels in love with him after less than two weeks, especially when Edric was dealing with so much heartache.

When they got the deer hide stripped, Farkas knelt down to shake it out then fold it up, skin side in. The hide was still in good condition and would be worth a few coins from Adrianne, since Eorlund didn’t like to fuss with tanning leather. The cool fall weather would keep the meat overnight until they could get it butchered tomorrow. Venison tasted better aged for at least a week, but the days were still too warm to let it hang for long. Whiterun deer and elk tasted better than just about any in Skyrim, since the animals fed on mostly sweet plains grass, while in other holds they fed on shrubs and other plants that gave the meat a little more flavor than Farkas liked.

“When do you want to go out?”

The question from Edric brought him back to himself, and he looked up to see the smaller man cleaning his fingernails with the knife. “Uh, same time as before, I guess,” Farkas mumbled. He glanced up at the sky and added, “Should stay clear tonight.”

“I think so.”

When Edric said nothing more, Farkas suggested, “Maybe we could stay out all night. Camp overnight, by that grove of pines outside town. Or under that overhang, if it’s empty.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Okay.” Farkas left it at that. Edric seemed distant, or preoccupied maybe, just as he had been since Vilkas left. Or since returning to Whiterun. Maybe since making that baby Gildergreen. Well, that was it then. If Edric didn't open up tonight, Farkas would go talk to Kodlak about everything, admit that he knew his lover was Dragonborn, and see what the old man suggested. This was personal, something he’d rather take to his foster father than Skjor, who although he was Harbinger didn’t have quite the wisdom Kodlak did.

He still needed to talk to Skjor though about Vilkas and the scene by the town well the day they left. Vilkas had his good days, his good hours rather, where he seemed perfectly calm and reasonable, well, not perfectly, but good enough, but those times were becoming fewer, and farther between. Farkas wished he had asked his brother where he was going. The thought of what Vilkas might be doing out there on his own was enough to make Farkas break out into a cold sweat. He didn’t want to think of his twin ending up like Sinding. He didn’t want to think about Vilkas shivering in a cold, wet cell having rotten food thrown at him, being spit on and called a monster. It was intolerable. Totally intolerable.

Ria came back out the door, and Farkas pulled his mind away from his worries as best he could. It hurt that everyone was so happy and relaxed with Vilkas gone. Maybe while he was talking to Kodlak he’d ask the old man where he was at in finding a cure. Farkas had no interest in it himself at this point, but Vilkas needed it. Bad. Vilkas might even have to be forced to take the cure when it was found, and he’d bring that up with Kodlak too. No matter what the former Harbinger had told him a few weeks ago, in his current state Farkas did have to be his brother’s keeper to some extent, or they would all end up suffering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's always seemed a bit odd to me that so many of the spells available in previous games weren't there in Skyrim. I imagine it's just that the College of Winterhold doesn't offer/teach certain spells, but that people who served down south in the Legion would have access to them. Hence, Chameleon.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Two of the previous chapter, that evening...

** Farkas, 12th of Frostfall, 4E205 **

Farkas pulled off his boots as Edric slowly walked the area, his hand lit up with a spell to find living creatures nearby as he scanned their surroundings. The overhang was still blessedly unoccupied and they had their camp set and a fire ready to light, with enough supplies that they could stay here a couple days if they wanted to. It would’ve been kind of romantic, if Edric still weren’t being a bit standoffish. He had been all afternoon and evening, barely making eye contact. It hurt. His mate's behavior had Farkas worried. Between Edric and Vilkas he was about ready to...well, he wasn't sure what, but it wouldn't be good.

_“Laas Yah Nir!”_

“Huh?” Farkas asked in confusion, turning to glance at his mate, seeing the glow of magic gone.

“No one’s near,” Edric stated in an edgy voice, his back to Farkas.

“Uh…okay.” That hadn’t really sounded like what Edric had whispered, but he wasn’t about to make things hard. It sure would be nice though to go on a hunt with Edric without things being tense at the start. Two out of two times wasn’t good odds. “Did you see any game nearby?” He really didn’t want to make due with a burrow of sleepy rabbits again.

“No. Nothing bigger than a rabbit within range of the…spell.”

Farkas sighed heavily and gave up any hope of having a pleasant night. Maybe once he was done with his hunt, such as it was, he could force Edric to talk, because something was eating at the younger man. It was hard to say what the cause was, and Farkas didn’t want to push, but maybe…maybe tonight he should. He couldn’t let Edric think that he didn’t care. He’d promised he would take care of Edric, and if that meant gently confronting him about whatever had had him in a mood for the last four or five days then that was what he was going to do. It tied up his stomach in knots to consider it, though, halfway fearful that it was something about Farkas himself. He didn’t know what it could be, but he was at a loss to figure it out.

Once his clothes were stripped off he set them next to the bedroll, near his great-sword, and said to Edric, “If I start getting grabby, you’ve gotta stop me, okay?”

“Sure.”

“Zap me or something if I don’t behave.” Edric turned and looked at him, his expression unreadable in the dark, then Farkas heard him laugh quietly.

“All right, wolf.”

That was better. It would be nice though when Edric finally started calling him something sweeter than that.

He knelt down and leaned forward onto his hands then pushed at the inside of his skin and felt the change come, the intense pain hitting him and then going as quickly as it always did. The color bled from his surroundings as they brightened, and he shook out his fur and let out a howl. His eyes landed on his mate and he huffed happily as Edric smiled at him. He ran at the pretty male, but when Edric backed up a step and put up his hands Farkas stopped short, flattening his ears and tucking his tail slightly as he whined. He vaguely remembered last time, just enough to know better.

“It’s all right,” Edric murmured. He reached out and tentatively touched the top of Farkas’ head. “Gently,” he ordered in a quiet voice. “Be gentle.”

Farkas lowered his head and leaned in, giving his tiny mate a sniff then a tender lick on the cheek. Edric sank his fingers into the ruff of his neck fur, scratching lightly then reaching up to rub Farkas’ ears. The werewolf resisted the urge to grab and settled instead for rubbing his head against his mate’s with a soft whine of affection.

“Ah, you’re sweet,” Edric whispered. “Sweet Farkas.”

Farkas pulled away then yipped happily and took off at a run, lifting his nose to the air as he began the search for game. He had only a brief time to enjoy this, and everything was right between him and Edric now, though he couldn’t quite recall what had been wrong.

He searched outwards, sniffing and stretching his senses. A pair of sabre cats wasn’t far off, and he avoided going their direction, knowing they could sense him and would avoid him as well. He could take them both, but not without paying for it in too many bites and scratches to make it worthwhile, and cat meat was not tasty.

He looked back and saw Edric following at a distance, bow at the ready, and heard that strange whisper again, _“Laas Yah Nir!”_ that made even less sense to a wolf than it did to a man. He shook himself with a huff and continued the hunt, running in a criss-cross pattern over the area in the hopes of scaring up some kind of game, which should still be plentiful this time of year.

“Farkas!” He turned his head at his mate’s call, and Edric pointed at the grove of pine trees and said, “Grouse. In the low branches.”

Grouse. He liked grouse. He didn’t like getting past the feathers, but he would take what he could get tonight. Things would be better when his mate was like him and they could hunt as a team. Werewolves weren’t supposed to hunt alone. Werewolves weren’t supposed to _be_ alone. It had always been him and his brother, and once upon a time the two older males. Those had been good times, the four of them taking down big bull elk together and feasting until their bellies ached. Happy times.

It wasn’t hard to take down two sleepy, confused grouse with a swipe of his huge paw, stunning the birds and knocking them to the ground. He bit off their heads to end their struggling then tore off the wings and tails, the hardest parts to get down. They still didn’t go down easily, but the meat was tasty, and they were big enough to satisfy.

Sated, Farkas ran down the hill to the familiar stream to drink his fill and rinse the downy feathers from his mouth. No, birds were not pleasant going down. The ever-present mudcrabs started towards him, clacking their claws and waving their antennae as they buzzed in aggravation, but they were far enough away that he was able to drink and leave before they came close enough to bother him. That was prey he had no interest in. He had tried that once, when he was young. _Once._ Crab shells went down even harder than feathers.

He ran back up the hill, shaking the water from his muzzle, searching out his mate, and found him still watching, alert and aware. A hunter. He smiled briefly at Farkas, who suddenly wished he had saved some of the grouse for his mate, but all that was left of them was wings and their big fan-like tails. Maybe Edric would like those. He couldn’t eat them but the feathers were pretty.

Farkas ran to where he had dismembered the birds and gathered up the remains, and when he brought them back to Edric his mate laughed as his face split into a broad grin.

“What do you have for me this time, wolf?” Edric asked. Farkas deposited the wings and tails, and Edric made a thoughtful sound and squatted down to look them over. He picked up a wing and fanned it out. “These are nice,” he said in a serious tone, though he was still smiling. He rubbed Farkas’ shoulder, and when the werewolf reached out for him he lightly batted the clawed hand away. “No. No grabbing.”

Farkas growled, unhappy with being denied, then he huffed and shook his head, feeling the first hints of the wolf retreating. He crawled backwards, shaking his head again, then he let out a moaning growl as the pain overtook him and his bones contorted and the fur retreated back into his skin.

“Fuck. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.”

The breathless, disbelieving statement barely registered with Farkas, not until he was on his hands and knees shuddering, his now-bare skin cold. He barely had time to feel a bit hurt by Edric’s words when he felt a warm hand on his upper back. “You shouldn’t watch,” Farkas said in a rough voice.

“I’m sorry,” Edric murmured. “It just came out.”

Farkas rose to his feet and shivered against the cool air, and when he saw Edric bend down to gather up the grouse wings and tails he sighed, “Come on, you don’t have to keep those. I get the rabbit, but not those.”

“These are good feathers for fletching. The wood elf brothers will buy or trade for them.”

“Oh,” Farkas muttered, his face warming.

As they started back to camp Edric quietly stated, “I told you I wouldn’t patronize you. I meant it.”

“Okay.” Neither man said anything further as they walked back, though Farkas was still mulling over everything. He felt ridiculous for it, feeling too much like his brainy brother. Well if this was what Vilkas lived with all the time he could keep it. It was horrible, not being able to turn off your thoughts. Farkas didn’t like it one bit.

As they neared camp Edric walked ahead, setting aside the feathers then squatting down to light the fire. Farkas stopped in his tracks, momentarily shocked by the sight of flames shooting out of Edric’s palm into the stacked wood. He then took a deep breath and saw the lesson there. Edric used magic and Farkas was a werewolf. They were an odd couple if there ever was one, but they loved each other and that was all that mattered. Well, Farkas loved Edric. He still wasn’t sure how far that went the other way.

He pulled the top bedroll back to sit on the fur inside, enjoying the growing warmth from the fire. Edric poked at it with a stick to settle the kindling then put some larger pieces on, and the glow from the flames lit up the scars on his face, making him look harsh, but when he glanced at Farkas the effect went away. The glance was brief, Edric’s eyes going back to the fire as he tended it, his expression giving nothing away as had been the case so often lately.

When the fire was going to Edric’s satisfaction, the younger man finally came to sit by Farkas. The silence wasn’t a comfortable one. Well, there was one sure way to get things comfortable.

Farkas reached for Edric, and when his beloved blocked his grasp by taking his hand the Companion sat back, trying not to feel hurt. Farkas was starting to wonder if maybe Edric just wasn’t feeling it. Farkas knew Edric didn’t love him the way he loved, and Farkas didn’t expect him to, not this soon anyway, but he couldn’t understand why Edric had agreed to camping out here if he was going to make things hard. The change had left Farkas feeling mellow and relaxed, the best possible time he could think of to really make love to Edric, without risking any aggression, but he couldn’t do that with this invisible issue in the way.

“Farkas…”

He couldn’t keep the slight waver out of his voice as he answered, “Yeah?” So something really was wrong. Edric had that certain tone to his voice that people got when they were about to say _We need to have a talk._ And that was never good.

Edric cleared his throat and started over. “Farkas…I…ugh.” He let go of Farkas’ hand and drew up his knees, wrapping his arms around them.

“What?”

“You…you remember, last week…”

“Of course I remember last week,” he said in a hurt tone. Maybe he wasn’t smart, but his memory was perfectly fine.

Edric let out a tired laugh and shook his head, staring out over the plains. “No, no that isn’t what I meant. I’m just…having trouble here. Getting this out.” Farkas stayed silent. Edric sighed heavily and put his forehead on the heels of his hands, his elbows on his knees. “Last week, on our vacation. The day of my birthday,” he went on. “You said…you said there wasn’t anything I could tell you that would make you think badly of me.”

“Yeah. And I meant it,” Farkas said firmly, while dread began coiling in the pit of his gut. He’d meant it, but maybe he wouldn’t be able to hold to it. He didn’t know what Edric could tell him that would change that, but whatever his man was trying to say it was obviously bad. It was probably whatever had been eating at him since coming back home. Farkas wondered if it was somehow tied up in tomorrow. Edric still hadn’t said what he wanted to do about tomorrow, the anniversary of the end of the Civil War, and Ralof’s death. Since crying himself to sleep the other night Edric hadn’t said a word about either.

Edric launched himself to his feet and walked a few steps away, folding his arms tightly, his back to Farkas, who swallowed down fresh hurt and began pulling his clothes on. His plans for the night clearly weren’t going anywhere. Maybe the relationship wasn’t going anywhere. He pulled on his tunic then stood and drew on his underclothes and pants while Edric stood hunched in on himself on the other side of the fire, thinking gods knew what. And that was the thing with Edric: you just didn’t know. Couldn’t know. He kept so much to himself, had such a private demeanor at times even with Farkas, that he could be thinking anything. His ability to hide his emotions behind a perfect mask whenever he felt like it never had sat well with the Companion.

Edric whispered, “You really love me. Right?”

Farkas frowned and made a sound of frustration. “Shit, of course I do. You know I do. I mean, you can see it. Really see it, I mean. With that thing you do.”

“That thing I do.” Edric laughed shortly. “That’s…beside the point. Of what I’m getting at.”

“So far you haven’t gotten at much of anything,” Farkas muttered. Edric laughed again, nodding. Farkas sighed, “Look, honey…I don’t know what you’re trying to say. I really don’t. I don’t know if you’re upset about tomorrow or having second thoughts—”

Edric shook his head. “No,” he said firmly. “No second thoughts. Not about how I feel.”

“Well I feel like an asshole for saying it, but I guess I don’t really know how that is.”

“That’s…fair.”

Farkas tried not to grumble at the evasive answer that was no answer at all. “So what is it?” he prompted. Edric rubbed his face, making a sound of dread, and when his beloved wrapped his arms around his middle Farkas walked around to face him. Edric wouldn’t meet his eyes. Farkas said with extreme patience, “Look, I know you’ve got secrets. I know you’ve never lied to me, but I know you’ve hardly told me anything. You’re a good person though, I can tell. I don’t see what you could tell me that would change things between us. At least not for the bad.” Edric hesitated, fidgeting, his breathing stressed. “I wish you would trust me,” Farkas continued sorrowfully. “If you can’t trust the guy who loves you, you can’t trust anyone.”

“Would you marry me? The way things are now?”

Farkas huffed in astonishment at the unexpected question, and the bald way it was delivered. It wasn't a proposal, he knew that, but he didn't get what the point of the question had been. “Uh, no. I can’t. I mean, I can’t marry someone who’s hiding things from me. I don’t mean that in a bad way. I know you’ll tell me some day, and I promised myself I’d be patient, but it’s been…harder than I thought it would be.”

“Maybe there’s no point in knowing. I’m going to die in the war, you know. There’s no point in knowing someone or marrying someone who’s going to die.”

The rushed, almost panicked statement made Farkas grumble and reach out to grab Edric. He feared the younger man would dance out of his grasp and was surprised when he held still and let himself get pulled close. Edric made a sound of grief and put his arms around Farkas’ waist and burrowed his nose into Farkas’ chest hair through the opening of the tunic. “We can wait until you get back to get married,” Farkas murmured. “’Cause you will come back.”

“But…I can’t heal,” Edric whispered.

“Then you’ve just gotta make sure the elves never get close enough to hurt you.” He kissed Edric’s forehead. It was terribly sad how hard this was for his poor little love, and Farkas was starting to get an inkling of just what Edric was trying to say. Maybe that was really what had been bothering Edric: he wanted to tell Farkas who he really was. It was a huge relief, if Farkas was right. He wondered if he should just get it out there himself and cut to the chase. Their relationship wasn’t going to go any further without getting everything out in the open. It just couldn’t.

“I just…that dragon. It nearly killed me. It destroyed me. Why wouldn’t an army of elves?”

Farkas took in a deep breath and said to hell with it all. Trust had to go both ways, and he’d been hiding what he knew for a week now. He steeled himself and said, “That was different. It wasn’t just any dragon, and you were distracted ‘cause of Ralof.” He felt Edric immediately stiffen but the other man didn’t pull away. Farkas could feel Edric’s heart hammering against him then his lover began to tremble. Farkas admitted, “You talk in your sleep, love. Well, you did once. The morning of your birthday.” He heard a whimpering sound as Edric’s body began to shake in earnest, and when the other man pulled away he let him, though he kept a close eye on him, ready to tackle him if he tried to take off.

“Oh god,” Edric mumbled in a tone of panic. “Oh god. Oh my god.” He sank to his knees onto the doubled bedrolls then bent over and laid his head on the fur, hugging his middle as if he was about to throw up.

Worried, Farkas went after him, sitting down next to him to lay his hand on Edric’s back. He couldn’t help feeling horribly guilty and wondering if he’d misread Edric’s intent. He hesitantly asked, “Weren’t you trying to tell me? Who you really are?” Edric nodded, sending deep relief through him along with a surge of love for the other man that was overwhelming. Edric really was trying to tell him he was Dragonborn. Well if Farkas had waited for him to actually spit it out he might’ve ended up waiting all night. It made him so happy though that Edric had wanted to tell him. That meant to the world to him. It lifted a huge weight off his shoulders. He rubbed Edric’s back, feeling the fabric clinging to the other man’s back with sweat. Farkas could smell the distress Edric was in.

Farkas went on, “I haven’t told anyone that I know. Not even Kodlak and Skjor. I figured I would wait and see if you told me. I mean, I knew you’d get around to it someday. I didn’t want to push or make you doubt me. It doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t make me feel any different.” Edric made a choking sound, still bent over. Farkas scooted closer and put his arm over him, quietly saying, “I loved you from the start. When I figured it out that morning it didn’t change anything, I swear. I know that’s why you didn’t tell me, ‘cause you wanted me to love you for you, and I do.”

“How,” Edric whispered harshly. “How did you figure it out? What did I say?”

“You were crying in your sleep and said Ray,” Farkas murmured in a sad tone, “then you started talking in a different language. I remembered that day with the dragon on the porch. And the smell. Vilkas has a dragon scale. You smell a lot like it, but alive.” Farkas sighed heavily. “I know I’m slow sometimes—”

“No.”

“Either way, that was enough. Ray could be Ralof, and I’m good at remembering things. And you’re a spellsword and lost your man a year ago. Vilkas told me everything about that day in Windhelm, and now your left side still hurts and you have scars where the worst of the damage was on your face. I think almost anybody could figure all that out. I should’ve figured it out sooner. I knew there was something different and special about you from day one. It wasn’t such a big deal to find out. Well, not as big a deal as you’d think.” He gently shook Edric’s shoulder. “I’ll still keep it to myself, if you want. Keep it between us.”

Edric blew out a long breath then grumbled and shook his head as he sat up, facing away from Farkas. “There’s no point,” he said tiredly. “Keeping it from the whole Circle. From Aela, anyway.”

“Sure, she can be trusted, but… I hate to say it, but Vilkas—”

“Vilkas knows.”

Farkas stared the back of Edric’s head for a few seconds, stunned, and he felt himself get hot all over as anger started to build in him. “He _what?”_ Farkas growled furiously. He saw Edric shudder slightly. “Vilkas knows you’re the Dragonborn?” Edric folded his arms and gave a little nod. “How long?”

“Since the day I fought Skjor, I think.”

The mousy sound of Edric’s voice made Farkas realize his lover thought he was angry with him. “I’m not mad at you,” he stated heatedly. “I’m mad at him. I’m…I’m pissed off as _hell_ at him. He’s known who you are all this time, and he’s still… The things he’s said and done to you, and he _knows?”_ Edric didn’t answer, but then it wasn’t really a question. Farkas let out a long, low growl, furious with his twin. Vilkas knew Edric was the Dragonborn, knew what Edric had suffered, what Edric had lost, and still he had acted like a complete prick. Farkas closed his eyes and ran his fingers back through his hair, wondering how he was going to manage when Vilkas returned. Wondering how he was going to keep himself from taking a swing at his brother, who clearly had to be halfway out of his mind to act the way he did.

He heard Edric move then felt the other man take his wrists and gently pull his hands down. Edric was staring into Farkas’ eyes, with that certain searching intensity that told him that his mate was reading him, but it was only for a moment then Edric’s expression softened as he sighed.

“Ah Farkas,” Edric murmured with a sad smile. He raised his hand and ran his fingertips across Farkas’ brow then down his cheek. _“Zu’u lokal hi, grohiik.”_

Farkas gazed at him wide-eyed at the sound of the dragon tongue. Edric moved into Farkas’ arms, winding his own around the other man’s neck. Farkas held him, feeling relief war with lingering anger at his twin. They were going to have words, at the least. Strong words. He was glad that Vilkas had left of his own accord, out of guilt probably, but that didn’t excuse what he had done. It was confusing too, how Vilkas’ behavior kept changing. He would seem completely calm at times, grumpy but calm, and then the next time you saw him he’d be acting like a crazy person, and there was no telling which Vilkas you were going to get.

He tried to let go of his anger, and when he felt Edric’s mouth on his neck it wasn’t too hard to do. He let his hands travel over the other man as he asked, “What did that mean? What you just said.” Edric’s nose nuzzled against his ear.

“I love you, wolf. That’s what I said.”

Farkas huffed happily at the soft murmur and held Edric more tightly, resisting the urge to confirm the statement. If Edric said it, he meant it. Edric loved him. Edric had admitted he was Dragonborn and told Farkas he loved him. Edric really did love him. Maybe Edric had wanted to admit who he was all this time because he loved Farkas. Maybe he had loved Farkas ever since their vacation. “I love you so much,” Farkas whispered. “More than anything.”

“Show me,” Edric murmured.

He felt the other man’s arms leave his neck then move between them to undo the studded leather gambeson, and Farkas pulled off his own tunic. He would then. He would make love to Edric just as he had planned to do, knowing that Edric loved him back. Love, love, love…it was all too wonderful to put into words.

Farkas took his time, more than aware of how slight the body beneath him was, in fact he took so much time that Edric finally demanded through gritted teeth that he stop being a damn tease and just do it already, and when he did he had to marvel at how perfectly Edric fit into the cradle of his arms, small enough that Farkas could kiss him while they moved together and put his hand behind Edric’s head and hold him. If there had ever been doubt that his mate had been made for him, that would have banished it right there. Still, he was careful, even when Edric’s squirming and moaning made it nearly impossible. He considerately made sure his lover finished first, and there was that touch of thunder again, just the faintest hint of it, startling, but not so much that it threw him off his own rhythm. Not even a herd of stampeding mammoths could have done so at that point, though he made sure he pulled out first, knowing how his beloved was about certain things.

He kissed Edric tenderly, and the younger man’s enthusiasm as Edric returned the kisses was gratifying. “Love you,” Farkas murmured.

“Oh Farkas,” Edric sighed happily. “That was…ah, it was so…” He peppered Farkas’ bearded cheek with kisses. “I love you, Farkas. _Zu’u lokal hi, miing. Lokal hi.”_

Farkas didn’t understand a word of the dragon tongue, but he didn’t feel he needed to, his mate’s affection and happiness clear enough. He lifted his head to look Edric in the eye and the other man looked so purely happy, the happiest Farkas had ever seen him. Farkas smiled at him and thought that maybe this was the happiest he had ever been too. He felt loved. Complete.

Edric’s smile faded as he stroked his thumbs across Farkas’ cheekbones. “I wish…I wish I’d never…”

“No,” Farkas murmured with a slight shake of his head. “It doesn’t do anyone any good. Least of all you.” He knew exactly what Edric had been about to say, so Edric didn’t need to say it. Maybe Edric would have saved himself an immense amount of pain if he’d never fallen in love with Ralof, if he had joined the Companions right away and fallen in love with Farkas back then instead, but that was just impossible, so there was no point in going there. “All that matters is now,” Farkas went on, lying down on his side, and Edric’s legs twined with his.

“All right.” Edric grimaced a bit then mumbled, “I…can we wash off before we cuddle?”

“Sure.” He’d expected that to come up soon anyhow. He kissed Edric’s forehead then rooted around in his pack and took out a handkerchief then used it to wipe the other man’s stomach, their mixed seed there already cold. Edric rolled to his feet with enviable nimbleness as Farkas tiredly climbed to his own. He watched with tender amusement as his beloved got out soap and a canteen of water, pressing the soap into Farkas’ hands as they moved away from the bedroll. Edric glanced furtively at him, seeming embarrassed as he poured water on Farkas’ hands. “Don’t,” Farkas quietly said. “It’s not a big deal.”

“I just…ugh.”

“Is it because of him? Ralof?”

Edric shook his head firmly. “No. Absolutely not.” He tapped his fingers nervously on the canteen. “He wasn’t…he didn’t care about things like that.” He shook his head again. “It started after the first one. The first…dragon. At the watchtower. It…turned something on. In me.” He glanced at Farkas and the Companion was staring at him wide-eyed, the soap forgotten in his hands. Farkas cleared his throat and began soaping up his groin, and Edric sighed heavily. “This is hard,” he said in a small voice.

“I know. As much as I can.” Farkas handed him the soap, and he passed the water to Farkas to rinse.

“I haven’t ever just…talked, about it. About all of it. Not to anyone but Ulfric.”

“He doesn’t know you’re here, does he,” Farkas stated. It wasn’t a question, but Edric shook his head, frowning. “He thinks you’re still up on the mountain then? Still all, you know. Messed up.” Edric nodded. “Have you talked to him at all since that day in Windhelm? The day Vilkas was there?” Another shake of the head. “Are you still mad at him?”

Edric washed as he mumbled, “Not really.”

“So why haven’t you told him where you are and that you’re better?”

“I’ve given him enough already,” he said with resentment. “Three years of my life. And I’m fine with that, you know? I followed him willingly. I felt what he was doing was right, with the rebellion and all. I still do. I hate some of the things I’ve had to do, and the choices I’ve had to make, but I never surrendered my honor or ignored my conscience.” He grimaced slightly. “Well, except with Ralof. I mean, I’m the fucking Dragonborn, I should have whatever I want, right?”

Farkas sighed at his bitterness and said in a chiding tone, “Come on, I’m sure it wasn’t like that. Don’t do that to yourself.” Edric’s lips pursed but he nodded, taking the water from Farkas. “I’m glad you’re telling me all this, love. Really. It isn’t good to keep things all bottled up inside. The pressure just builds up that way.”

“I know, I…I wanted to tell you. After we were together, really together, the day of my birthday. It’s been bugging me ever since.”

“I’m glad it was just that and not something really bad.” He kissed Edric’s forehead. “Your secrets are safe with me. I swear.” Edric nibbled at his lip, looking past Farkas, suddenly a bit tense again, and it made a sense of foreboding go through the big man again. He hesitantly asked, “Is there something else?” Edric looked like he was in pain, like he was wrestling with something even bigger than being Dragonborn, and Farkas said in a tone of dread, “Shit, don’t do this to me, honey. You’re gonna put me into an early grave.”

Edric squeezed his eyes shut, whispering, “You can’t tell Vilkas. Or Aela. You can’t say a word to anyone. Not Kodlak, not Skjor…not a soul.”

Farkas swallowed, wondering if he really wanted to know something that warranted that. Wondering where it was all going to end. How the hell many secrets could one person have!?

“Swear to me!” Edric insisted, his eyes flying open, clenching the canteen tightly. “Swear to me on your honor that this stays between us! This has to stay between us!”

“Okay, okay,” Farkas said quickly. “I swear on my life. I won’t tell a soul. I’ll keep it between us until the day I die, unless you tell me otherwise.” Edric turned away, going back to the packs to put the soap and water away, his hands shaking slightly, and when he pulled out a bottle of mead then popped the cork Farkas left him to it. This wasn’t the time or place to deal with _that_ problem, one that Farkas knew was bigger than either of them could handle alone. Edric stood, his back to Farkas, the firelight dancing across lean muscles and sweetroll hair.

“I ah…” Edric took a deep drink. He shivered as he swallowed. “I…Kodlak…he’s…he’s my father.”

Farkas felt his heart literally skip a beat as he took a step backwards as if struck. “W-what?” he whispered. Edric didn’t repeat it, his entire body trembling, and when he took another drink Farkas could see the mead sloshing around in the amber bottle, Edric’s hand shaking so badly it was a miracle the drink wasn’t going all over the place.

He stared at Edric’s back, at the brown and white braid hanging there, his heart pounding. And just as before, Farkas wondered how he hadn’t seen it. _Bruma, 175. I started going white at seventeen. Runs in the family. I never knew my father growing up,_ but he had never said his father was dead. Edric’s mother had had him in her mid-teens, and she was small for a Nord, and her parents and grandparents were dead. Just like that girl that Kodlak had briefly loved and wanted to marry. And then there was that uncanny gift Edric had of reading people, of seeing the truth in their eyes, just like Kodlak. Farkas had even said so, and Edric had laughed, _Yeah, like Kodlak._ He should have seen it right then and there.

It was all so obvious that Farkas had to wonder how Vilkas hadn’t figured it out yet. If Edric looked anything like Kodlak, Vilkas probably would have. _I mostly take after her, not my father,_ Edric had said about his mother, the day he had first played the lute. All that time that Edric had spent with Kodlak, since coming to Jorrvaskr. Kodlak’s relief and pride when Edric had become an official Companion. Kodlak’s grief when the Dragonborn had screamed on top of the mountain. Farkas knew that Kodlak hadn’t had a clue that the Dragonborn was his son until the day that Edric had first come to Jorrvaskr. It was so upsetting that Farkas couldn’t help getting teary-eyed. Kodlak had gone back to Bruma just a little too late and had never known that the girl he’d loved was still alive, that the child she carried was still alive. It had to have hurt like hell to find out, twenty-nine years later, just as that child was getting ready to fly a dragon off to Sovngarde, maybe to die. And now that child was back and Kodlak was dying.

As he watched Edric gradually drink down the entire contents of the bottle, Farkas tried to think of something to say and no words would come. This…this would have stopped him from approaching Edric. More than being Dragonborn, Edric being Kodlak’s son would have been what stopped him. He never would have dreamed of pursuing the son of the man who had finished raising him. It was…well, he supposed it wasn’t incestuous, or wrong, because Kodlak hadn’t raised Edric, and Farkas wasn’t really Kodlak’s son. And it wasn’t even that, really. He respected Kodlak deeply and it was nerve-wracking to think of courting the Harbinger’s son, knowing Kodlak was watching, in a way. Knowing that Kodlak was probably aware that Farkas was… He closed his eyes briefly, feeling a flutter of nerves in his gut. Farkas was bedding Kodlak’s son, and Kodlak surely knew it. Ah gods.

He heard the pop of another cork, and that spurred him to move. He opened his eyes and went to Edric, kneeling down next to him and putting his hand over the mouth of the bottle as he sternly said, “No. No, we’re gonna deal with this.”

“Deal how?” Edric retorted, trembling. When Farkas didn’t answer Edric tried to pull the bottle away, but Farkas held fast, his other hand plucking the cork out of Edric’s other hand and sticking it back in the bottle. As he put it away Edric glared at him and muttered, “You never would’ve been with me if you knew before. I shouldn’t have told you.”

“Yeah, you’re right, I wouldn’t have, but like with Ralof, the past doesn’t matter, ‘cause we can’t change it, and I don’t want to.” He closed the flap of the pack and looked at the other man, who stared back with glistening green eyes. Farkas couldn’t remember what color Kodlak’s had once been; the old man had been a member of the Circle since Farkas and Vilkas were still pups. He had already been a werewolf when he went to Bruma. But now that he knew, Farkas could see that their eyes were shaped the same.

Edric’s chin trembled slightly, and Farkas hesitantly reached out and lightly rubbed the back of his fingers against Edric’s right cheek, feeling the uneven, unnaturally smooth scar tissue there, the first time he had ventured to touch there other than kisses. Edric tried to pull away but Farkas put his hand on the back of Edric’s neck and kept him there. “I _love_ you,” he said intently. “This doesn’t change that.” Edric made a sound of pain and threw himself against Farkas, who held him tightly, relieved. Still bewildered by the knowledge, but relieved. “Kodlak gave me his blessing. That means something. He trusts me with you. He trusts me to take care of you. I’m still gonna do that.” He felt Edric nod, still trembling. “Is that everything? ‘Cause if you spring anything else on me I think I’m gonna have a fucking heart attack.”

Edric laughed tearfully, “Yeah, that’s it.”

“Good.” Farkas let out a long breath, no longer reeling but still sort of thrown. “Come on,” he murmured, giving Edric a little tug. His mate followed him the short distance to the bedroll and Farkas laid down and pulled Edric into his arms then covered them up. He sat up on his elbow and put his head on his hand, and Edric gazed up at him with lingering anxiety. Farkas wasn’t sure how either of them were going to get any sleep tonight, because he had so many questions they might never end.

“Go ahead,” Edric said softly. “I know you want to ask…things.”

“When did you find out Kodlak was your father?” Edric sighed, rolling onto his side to face the fire, and Farkas laid down behind him to hold him close, pillowing his head on his arm.

“I don’t know…for sure, right after the Battle of Whiterun. But I had a pretty good idea before that.” He reached up to fiddle with his amulet of Kynareth. “Mum, I told you she’s…loopy. Not all there. Bruma shattered her. She’s was high-strung and fragile before that, but she saw so many people killed. Her own family murdered. The Thalmor hunted people down in the streets like dogs. Anyone wearing an amulet of Talos was killed, and Mum…she was an acolyte of Talos, in the chapel. She wanted to stay there and defend it with the other clerics when she heard the elves were coming, and her parents literally tied her up, gagged her, and shoved her in a closet. The elves blasted the chapel apart and tore down the statue of Tiber Septim, then they started razing the city, house by house. The house burned down around her. Maybe it was the grace of Talos himself that saved her, but the closet collapsed on her then it started to rain. She told me she heard thunder and that she was sure that in his grief and anger Talos had Kyne send the storm.”

Farkas made a soft sound of amazement. He shivered and pulled Edric closer, trying to get warm. This was just all too much to absorb in one night.

“She was stuck there for a couple days, still gagged and bound. Couldn’t get out from under the rubble or scream for help. The elves probably would have killed her if she had. Once the Thalmor were done and gone people started trying to pick up the pieces and some guards found her. Bruma is, was, mostly Nord. Some joined the Legion after that, to fight the Dominion, but a lot of them fled up here. Mum doesn’t really remember much about the next few months, but I was born in Solitude. Mum…doesn’t remember how she got there, but she’s been consistent on that, that I was born there.”

“You don’t remember?”

Edric shook his head. “My earliest memory is when I was three and a half, maybe four, of Mum leaving me by a gravestone and telling me to hide and be quiet so she could get us some money. I think it was Falkreath. I was crying and an old priest of Arkay came out to tend the graves and heard me, but not the old Altmer that’s there now. He gave me an apple and some bread, thinking I was hungry. I wasn’t, just…scared. But I kept the food for Mum. She went without too often so that I never did.”

His heart aching, Farkas whispered, “I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to.”

“Nah, it’s all right. My childhood actually wasn’t bad. I know that’s hard to believe, but it really wasn’t. I never went hungry. I can’t count how many nights I laid there next to her hearing her stomach growl, but mine never did. She never raised a hand to me, never said a harsh word, kept me safe and clothed and fed, at cost to herself. That’s why I make sure she’s waited on hand and foot and wants for nothing. My housecarl in Riften takes care of her, in a house I have there. Makes sure she doesn’t wander into town and get into trouble or…say things.”

“Does she uh, know?”

“What I really am?” Edric laughed tiredly. “No. She knows I’m a Thane of The Rift. She knows I have, um, well…money. I’m not really sure where she thinks it comes from.” He laughed again. “Maybe she thinks I’m a thief.” When Farkas grunted, Edric laughed more fully. “I’m not, by the way.”

“I know that,” Farkas mumbled.

“The Guild and I have an understanding: they don’t touch my houses and they keep their fingers.” He took Farkas’ hand and pulled it up to kiss it then tucked it under his chin. “I’ll take you there to meet Mum. Just don’t take anything she says seriously and you’ll do fine.”

“Does she know about Ralof?” Edric nodded but didn’t say anything further about it. Farkas prompted, “So, Kodlak?”

“Right,” Edric murmured. “Mum had a different answer every time I asked her who my father was. Sometimes she said she didn’t know. Most times she would just cry and not say anything, but on different weeks he was a Legionnaire, or an innkeeper, or a random mercenary she’d met on the road, or a bandit who’d raped her. Once she tried to tell me it was a Thalmor Justiciar. That one was pretty funny. Anyway, after I got to be six or seven I asked why we never went to Whiterun. She completely lost it. Wailing and wringing her hands, pacing around… When she finally calmed down she said that, ah…werewolves lived there. And that we would never, ever go there as long as she lived, because the wolves would steal me from her.” He snorted. “I wrote it off as more of her craziness. I knew by then that she was…off. Maybe something hit her in the head when the house collapsed.”

Edric sighed and snuggled back into Farkas and went on, “Anyway, I couldn’t help thinking my father was still alive and in Whiterun. We spent my whole childhood moving between cities but never set foot in Whiterun hold other than the fringes of it. Then when I was eleven we passed through Helgen, and…a man there recognized my mother. She was still young then, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, and still beautiful as can be. The guy was her parents’ next door neighbor, who’d survived Bruma. He started asking her questions, about where she had been and how she got out of Cyrodiil, and she started spinning one of her yarns and talking crazy, then he asked her what had ever happened to that old mercenary from Skyrim that had been hell bent on marrying her, and what had the fella’s name been, something with a K, and she went completely nuts and said he’d abandoned her and the baby died. I could tell it unsettled him. I was watching from the porch of the inn, so he didn’t see us together, but Mum hustled us out of there in the middle of the night and we never went back there.” He laughed slightly. “Well, she didn’t.”

“Helgen,” Farkas whispered, fresh goose bumps rising on his skin. He knew of course that Edric had been at Helgen when the dragon came. When Alduin came.

“Yeah, Helgen. Right fucking mess that was.”

“I can’t imagine. I mean, we all saw the ruins afterward, and the uh, bodies.”

“I don’t know how anyone lived. Nothing anyone did seemed to damage the dragon at all. Just… bounced off…” Edric shuddered and Farkas squeezed his hand and kissed the back of his head. “But Kodlak. When I joined the Legion, I was part of a group of Nord recruits. One of them was from Riverwood. Hadvar. His uncle is the blacksmith in town.” Farkas nodded in recognition. Edric said in a tone of half contempt, half regret, “He grew up with Ralof, though I didn’t know that until Helgen. Was always a big stickler for the rules, that one. Anyway, when I found out he was from Whiterun hold I started asking him questions about it, about the city. He made it seem like the greatest city in Skyrim. Which was pretty funny at the time, considering we were in Solitude. Made me feel like some sophisticated world traveler, because I had already been all over Skyrim growing up.”

“That must’ve been hard,” Farkas said with sympathy. He took his childhood for granted, hard as it had sometimes been. He’d always had consistency, routine, a dependable roof over his head, a loving foster mother and strong father figures.

Edric shrugged. “It’s all I ever knew. I always got to meet new people, see new things. Mum was kind to me and protected me. I was…pretty, when I was a kid. Big eyes and curly blond hair. Men sometimes tried to get close to her to get at me, but she had a sense about those things. I don’t know, maybe she has something like Kodlak, because she always knew when trouble was brewing, when it was time to move on.” Farkas grumbled uneasily. Edric rubbed his hand and stated, “I know you feel bad for me, but you shouldn’t.”

“Why shouldn’t I? You had no father. You moved so much that you never had the chance to get attached to anyone or anything. How can I not feel bad about that?” Edric didn’t answer, and Farkas knew why. He knew exactly why. Edric didn’t answer because the way he had grown up _had_ affected him. Not all for the bad, and maybe it had been some kind of preparation in a way for one day being the Dragonborn and always running around, never setting down roots. And his poor mother…some fragile woman-child with a mouth to feed when she wasn’t even ready to take care of herself, seeing everyone she loved die, thinking the man who had knocked her up had abandoned her, being forced to prostitute herself to keep her child fed and clothed… “What’s your mother’s name, anyway?” Farkas asked in realization.

“Daina. Her name means ‘song’. She has a voice like a bird, the prettiest singer I’ve ever heard.” He cleared his throat and went on, “But Hadvar…he told me about the Companions. I mean, I already knew about the Companions. Somehow I never saw them at more than a distance growing up, but everyone knows the Companions. Hadvar told me that the Harbinger was named Kodlak and that he had met him once when the man had gone to Riverwood to order lumber to make some repairs to Jorrvaskr, and Kodlak had been very specific that it had be oak, to match the original materials used to build the ship Jorrvaskr.”

Amazed, Farkas murmured, “I remember that. Him going on that trip.”

“Hadvar said he had watched from around the corner with the other kids. He told me that even though Kodlak was in his forties that his hair was white as snow, and he wore the most beautiful armor, Skyforge steel, decorated with wolf heads.”

Edric made a sound of discomfort and shifted, rolling onto his right side to face Farkas, who asked, “You okay?”

“Fine, just…my hip hurts. It’s nothing.”

Farkas wasn’t convinced of that but wasn’t about to call his beloved a liar. He couldn’t help worrying that it was his fault somehow, maybe from lovemaking, but Edric seemed fine now, running his fingers through Farkas’ chest hair as he continued talking. Farkas wasn’t about to stop him. Getting all this background and insight was too fascinating to risk putting a stop to it.

“Once I had that name I started wondering if maybe Kodlak could be my father,” Edric stated. “His name started with a K, the Companions were mercenaries of a sort, and the wolf armor maybe was where Mum had gotten her idea that Whiterun was full of werewolves. Then about a year later I found my first gray hair. White hair. My hair started going white.” He laughed. “It was kind of exciting, actually. Getting white hair. Can you imagine? I thought for sure it was a sign that this Kodlak fellow had to be my father. That I was a Whitemane.” He ran his hand down to Farkas’ hip. “Then we all got sent to Cyrodiil, to start our ‘real’ training, and I didn’t see Hadvar again until early 201. I hardly recognized him, he’d gotten so… muscly. He was part of the group that captured Ulfric’s party near Darkwater Crossing. I was part of the detachment stationed in Helgen that was responsible for guarding that area, along with the Pale Pass. I kind of hoped when we were sent there that I would be able to find the old man who knew my mother, but he was dead or gone.”

Farkas nearly held his breath, afraid to throw off Edric’s narrative. He had no idea at all how he was going to sleep tonight. Not a damn clue.

Edric went on, “I had already soured on the Legion pretty badly by that point. I knew I wasn’t officer material. I had trouble taking orders but couldn’t give them worth a damn either. All the rules and regulations…bah. I hated it. I think I was only tolerated as long as I was because I was so good at what I did. The pay wasn’t particularly good either. I made enough to send home to Mum in Solitude and take care of her, but I was always worrying about her, on her own, and I didn’t have any left over for myself, and…I was just sick of it all, but I didn’t know what else to do with myself, and my second five year enlistment was nearly up. And then the wagons rolled into Helgen, full of Stormcloaks.”

“Wow,” Farkas whispered.

“Yeah,” Edric replied softly with a nod. “I’d never seen Ulfric before, but he…he just oozed this…I don’t know, charisma. Power. Even with the gag in his mouth. The thought that he was a real Tongue, like in the olden days… No one could look away from him. And the rage in his eyes…” Edric shivered. “They started lining up the Stormcloaks, and the first one they executed said…he said his ancestors were smiling at him from Sovngarde. And Captain Caelia, she just kicked him in the back of his knees and said he’d be seeing them soon enough. She thought Nords were little better than animals and made sure we never forgot it, so I’m sure she was just _thrilled_ by the opportunity to see all their heads roll.” He turned onto his back. “Hadvar called Ralof’s name, ‘Ralof of Riverwood’, and I realized they must have grown up together. He called it out like it meant nothing to him. Not a flicker of regret, no hesitation at all, and…and something just snapped in me. He was like a Dwemer automaton, no emotion, no spirit… It was like looking at him I could see Skyrim’s future. The Empire and the Thalmor would keep at us until we were all like Hadvar, and the ones who weren’t would go to the block just as Ulfric and Ralof were.”

Farkas nodded, staring down at his mate with a slightly pounding heart, thinking of how differently things might have turned out if Edric hadn’t ‘snapped’. Everyone might be dead by now, or well on their way.

Edric continued in a tone of faint grief, “I saw Ralof walking to the block with his head held high, and… and it was a sunny day and the light was shining off his hair, and I was standing there and he looked at me with those blue, blue eyes of his and said, ‘Shouldn’t keep the gods waiting.’ Then he nodded at Hadvar and said, ‘Careful you don’t end up like that one there, little kinsman.’ He thought I was a lad.” He laughed sadly and Farkas sighed and stroked his arm. “I…I saw all these sons and daughters of Skyrim lined up for the slaughter, and Hadvar just standing there numb, without even a spark of protest in him, and that damned Captain Caelia smirking over it all, and…I couldn’t take it anymore. I stepped forward and said no, that this wasn’t right, that they hadn’t even had a trial, and what were we all turning into, with our lists and not even following our own rules and laws… I don’t even remember half of what I said, I was so worked up.

“Tullius said that if I sympathized with the rebels then I was no better than they were. And I looked at Hadvar and he just stood there with that broken look on his face. Caelia told me to fall into line and I said no, that I wasn’t some dog to blindly do what I was told, and she said something like, ‘You’re a Nord, yes you are a dog, and you’ll be a good dog and fall into line or be a dead dog and go to the block’, and I just totally lost it. I lit up a frost spike to throw at her and I got knocked off my feet, I think by Hadvar, and got bound up like the others. Caelia said that since I felt so much for the rebels that I could go to the block next, and I heard Ulfric yelling through his gag, enraged, and the townfolk were all yelling, half of them screaming ‘Death to the rebels! Death to the Stormcloaks!’ and the other half yelling ‘Imperial butchers! Thalmor puppets!’ and I was just kneeling there with my head on the bloody stone wondering what was going to happen to my poor mother. And then…then the dragon came.”

“Ah fuck,” Farkas whispered in horror, shuddering hard before he sat up, rubbing his arms. He leaned back and pulled out the mead from Edric’s pack and pulled the cork and took a long drink, and Edric snorted a laugh and rolled over the other way to put another chunk of wood on the fire. Edric stayed sitting up, poking at the fire, his back to Farkas, and the big man tried to come to terms with everything he had just heard and couldn’t do it. It was too much to process at once. It had been a big enough deal just knowing who Edric was, but to hear all this from his point of view was nearly more than Farkas could manage. He knew he would, somehow, because he always did. He just needed some time to mull all this over and absorb it.

Edric quietly said, “I didn’t come join the Companions because I had to get the message to Balgruuf then hightail it to Solitude, to get my mother to safety. I was terrified that she would somehow be used against me or suffer because of what I did. I moved her to Dawnstar, into Stormcloak territory, until I could figure out what to do.” He put another small piece of wood on the fire. “Joining the Companions would’ve gotten me coin, but I was so afraid of getting caught. I kept hoping that the Legion just thought I was dead, that I had gotten killed in Helgen like most of the others, but Kodlak was here, and I still didn’t know what to do about him either. I had no idea if he really had abandoned my mother when he found out she was pregnant, or what. I didn’t think so, because that man way back when had said he wanted to marry her, and I could see him coming back and finding Bruma fucked up and her gone and assuming the worst. I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, so I stayed away as much as I could.”

“He thought she was dead,” Farkas mumbled.

“I know that, now, but…” Edric turned to look over his shoulder, frowning in confusion. “How did you know that?”

“He told me. Uh…no, he didn’t tell me, really, but he told me a story. When I asked if it was okay to court you. I asked him if he had ever courted anyone and he said yes, a long time ago, but he didn’t say where. He told me he was badly wounded and ran out of potions, and she was the only one who could treat him and they fell in love. He didn’t tell me that she had been pregnant.” Edric sighed and nodded. Farkas was sure Kodlak had cleared all that up between them the day Edric had flown away on the dragon.

“Well, we got that all sorted out. I couldn’t fly off to Skuldafn, Sovngarde, and not let him know.” He drew up his knees. “I gave him the amulet of Mara that he gave Mum.”

“That brass disk he keeps on his side table?”

Edric nodded and made a sound of assent. “It’s a Cyrodiilic amulet. They…do things differently down there. Engagements are more formal, even among Nords. Her family, her father especially, thought Kodlak was a barbarian.” Edric laughed slightly. “I can’t help feeling sorry for the old man. Of course because of the loss and all that, but can you imagine the situation? Some big bearded guy old enough to be her father, with the white hair to prove it, deflowering their barely-legal daughter, knocking her up, then giving her a cheap necklace he’d picked up at the general goods store and saying he was going to take her away to Skyrim? They hated him with a passion and he knew it. I don’t doubt that the entire time he was away that they did everything in their power to get her to abort me and change her mind.”

“But why did she keep the amulet if she thought he’d abandoned her?”

Edric shrugged one shoulder. “Who knows? I try to keep our conversations on safe ground. Mum doesn’t know that I’ve met Kodlak or that I’m a Companion now. She watches the boats on the lake and picks flowers with Iona, dresses up in the clothes and jewelry I buy her and fixes her hair… It’s almost as if she’s permanently stuck at sixteen,” he finished sadly.

“Maybe so,” Farkas murmured with regret. “But I’d like to meet her. I won’t wear my wolf armor and I’ll be careful about what I say.”

“I appreciate that, _miingi.”_

The soft warmth to the word made Farkas think it was an endearment, which was nice, something he’d been wanting to hear for a long time, but it didn’t really do a lot of good if he didn’t understand what it meant. Curious, he asked, “How did you learn to talk like a dragon?”

“From the Greybeards. I’d spend a couple weeks at a time up there, before I went to Sovngarde. I picked up the language from them the way I do shouts. Something…in the blood I guess.”

The discomfort in his mate’s voice told him to veer away from asking any further about that, so he settled for, “ _Miingi_ …what does that mean?”

 _“Miing_ means honey. _Miingi_ is my honey.”

He glanced over his shoulder when Farkas made another one of those weird, smothered, gurgling sounds that he had never seemed to make before Edric came along. “I like that,” the big man whispered. Edric smiled at him and he sighed, leaning close to kiss him. He corked the mead and set it aside then grabbed his lover around the waist and hauled him back into his lap, wrapping his arms around him, feeling the front of his body warm from the fire.

Edric snuggled into him, one hand lightly stroking Farkas’ arm. They sat quietly for some minutes, skin to skin, watching the flames dance, then Farkas said in realization, “That whisper, when we came out here. That was a shout. A…uh, whisper shout.” He felt Edric nod.

“It’s like the Detect Life spell, but it has a much farther range. I still don’t trust that the Silver Hand aren’t around.” He gently fingered the hair on Farkas’ arm as he murmured, “I wonder if I should offer to help. Aela and Skjor are stretching themselves thin, and the Harbinger should spend more time in Jorrvaskr. Maybe I’ll talk to them about it when they get back.” He sighed heavily. “I wonder if I should just tell everyone who I am. The whole guild.”

“Uh uh,” Farkas said with a shake of his head. “I don’t trust Torvar. He’ll rat you out to his father or Ulfric. Or Vignar.”

Edric grimaced then said hesitantly, “Vignar, ah, knows who I am.”

“Well shit,” Farkas muttered. “How?”

“When he became Jarl, after the Battle of Whiterun. I stayed at Dragonsreach for a few days, while I was in town. So I could make sure everyone behaved themselves and none of the citizens were abused or harassed.”

Farkas nodded, remembering the Dragonborn patrolling the streets with a big blond Stormcloak in tow, who in hindsight must have been Ralof. The Companions had stuck to Jorrvaskr, refusing to get involved, though they had made it clear before the battle began that any non-soldier was welcome to take refuge on their grounds, and every member had stood guarding the steps, making it clear to the combatants that anyone bringing the battle their direction would pay dearly for it. Severio Pelagia had unfortunately refused to budge from his house and it had gotten crushed under a rock from a catapult.

Edric went on, “It was after talking to Vignar that I knew for sure that Kodlak was my father. He told me that Kodlak had traveled down south when he was younger and had fallen in love with a girl from Bruma, but he had always believed she had died along with their unborn child. I asked him to keep it to himself until I had the chance to talk to Kodlak about it on my own. Vignar isn’t exactly…delicate about things. I guess I wasn’t either, but Kodlak wouldn’t talk to me alone until I forced his hand that day.”

“Does Ulfric know?”

“Yeah, I told him after the battle, when I went back to Windhelm to report in. Ulfric…” Edric sighed with regret. “He was like a father to me. He took me under his wing after Helgen, before I even found out I was Dragonborn. That was why it hurt so much when he lied to me. It was as if he didn’t trust me to handle losing Ralof. And I could have, if he’d just given me some time, but he was high on our victory in Solitude and he hustled me off to deal with Alduin right away. That was what undid me, seeing Ralof in Sovngarde when I’d been told he was fine and on his way to Windhelm. I felt so…so betrayed. As if Ulfric saw me as nothing more than one of his assets to deploy.”

Farkas murmured, “My poor sweetheart.” Farkas could only imagine how that would hurt, the double pain of losing a husband and then being lied to about it. Edric had also probably been shaken up still about meeting Kodlak for the first time. It wasn’t any wonder that he had been so distracted that he had nearly died.

Edric shrugged one shoulder and said sullenly, “I know he doesn’t really feel that way. His tears the day Vilkas was there were real. One of these days we’ll make up, I’m sure. I suppose we’ll have to, if things go the way we all think they will next year.”

“I can’t think about that,” Farkas said with anxiety. It was worrisome enough thinking about his mate going out on a job unable to heal; he had done a quick one the day before yesterday to clean out White River Watch on his own and Farkas had worried the entire time. Edric had come back without a scratch, but war was entirely different. War was like an endless series of jobs with an endless number of enemies coming at you, or so he supposed.

“I don’t want to think about it either,” Edric agreed. He turned in Farkas’ arms and the big warrior laid down, taking him along, and they twined their legs together as Farkas pulled the bedroll back over them. Edric tucked his head under Farkas’ chin and put his arm over him then whispered, “Will you go to Riverwood with me tomorrow?”

“Aye love,” he whispered back. He kissed Edric’s head and held him close, worried that he would hear sniffling, but none came. He felt tender kisses on his chest then a nose nuzzling the hair there, and he sighed in contentment, glad that the night had turned out all right. It had been painful in spots, but it had been necessary pain, needed to move things forward and get some of the weight off Edric’s soul. Farkas was certain that they still had a little work to do, mainly on Edric’s drinking, but things felt solid now. He knew Edric really did love him, and trust him, and that was the most important thing. He could handle anything as long as he knew that.


	21. Chapter 21

** Farkas, 13th of Frostfall, 4E205 **

Edric's anxiety was obvious as he stiffly climbed down from his horse. He had hardly said a word on the way to Riverwood, and the ride took a good four or five hours so that was saying something. They tethered the horses to a fence post at the Sleeping Giant Inn and Farkas reached for his right hand, worried he might resist, but instead Edric clung to him, moving close. Farkas could feel him trembling and when he glanced at his mate's face his lips were pressed into a thin line and he could see him swallowing. His eyes were hidden by the hood of his cloak, something he had pulled up before riding into town, even though it was sunny out. Farkas supposed he didn't want people to recognize him, though really the only people who might were his former in-laws.

He glanced around and people were going about their business with only casually curious glances, and he ignored them and murmured to Edric, "Where is it?" The graveyard. Edric swallowed again and started walking, and Farkas let him lead, unable to help feeling anxious and worried about his man. Anyone would be distressed about this, about visiting a spouse's grave for the first time on an anniversary that held nothing but sorrow. Edric had been subdued all day, but at least he had stayed close that morning, as if craving Farkas' support and comforting, and the Companion had readily given it. He had made sure when he got dressed that morning to tuck a couple handkerchiefs in his armor in easily accessible places, because it was a given they would be needed.

The town's graveyard was at the far end of town, outside the wall guarding the river road that ran up to the lake. The one that also led to Helgen. The knowledge that he carried now made Farkas shiver. It wasn't an easy thing to manage, though he knew he would like he always did. He wasn't one to overthink things, but his mind had been turning it all over every waking moment since the night before. Edric had slept like one of the dead, but Farkas hadn't slept well, even more than usual, unable to stop thinking about the things his mate had told him. He didn't know how the younger man slept at all with what he carried around.

When they passed through the wall a pretty blond woman was strewing blue mountain flowers on one of the stone-covered graves, and Edric came to an abrupt stop, his body stiffening at Farkas' side. She glanced up at them with damp, bright blue eyes which immediately widened in shock as she stood. She looked familiar, about as typically Nord-looking a woman as Farkas could imagine, tall and sturdy and fair.

"Edric?" she gasped. "Arkay's blessed name, is that you?"

Edric shook his head vehemently and began backing up, and Farkas murmured "Hey," and caught him, putting his arms around the smaller man. He understood Edric wanting to run away from this, but they were here now, and if they didn't do this now then it would probably be impossible to get Edric to come here ever again. Edric turned his face into Farkas' shoulder, shaking, and Farkas wondered if it was because the woman, Gerdur he remembered, looked like Ralof, or if it was just the memories.

Gerdur moved closer and whispered, "Edric dearest, it's me, your sister. Don't shut me out like this. We've all been worried sick over you."

Edric didn't answer, and Farkas whispered back, "He doesn't want anyone to know where he is."

"But…" She glanced at the guards, then she looked at Edric again and motioned to her face and grimaced in question, and Farkas nodded and grimaced back. She pursed her lips, frowning sadly, then said, "My house is the big one on the south side of town, near the back. Do what you need to then meet me there, yeah?"

"Sure," Farkas agreed. He heard a sound of protest from Edric but Farkas wasn't going to have any of that. Gerdur stared at the back of Edric's head for a moment longer then huffed in sorrow and walked away. Well, at least they knew which grave was Ralof's. Farkas rubbed his beloved's back and gazed sadly at the flower-strewn, rocky patch of ground. It was set with a simple rough headstone engraved with an R. It seemed there should have been more than that. _Ralof, Husband of Edric. Ralof, Beloved of the Dragonborn._ Ralof should have gotten some kind of recognition in death of what had been hidden in life, but there wasn't really anything distinguishing his grave from any of the others. Maybe that was just how he had wanted it, but it didn't seem like enough.

He squeezed Edric then murmured, "She's gone, honey. You can look now."

"I can't," he said in a panic-filled voice. "I can't see it. I can't stand knowing he's down there. He's…he's rotting away in the ground, just a corpse, that…that body that I used to…"

He made a high-pitched, strangled wailing sound that made Farkas' body hair stand on end, and he held Edric as tightly as their armor would allow, hearing steel scraping on steel. Farkas made gentle shushing sounds and rubbed his back even if the other man could barely feel it through the metal. He was worried that if his grip slackened even slightly that Edric would run off. He could smell the stress coming off him, nose-wrinkling, acrid. People did things they ordinarily wouldn't do when they smelled like that.

He held Edric for a few minutes more, and when the trembling seemed to be easing off he said, "At least go see Ger—"

"I can't look at her and not see him!"

Farkas sighed, having his suspicion confirmed. "Then don't look at her, but at least talk to her. She was your sister-in-law. At least give her the comfort of knowing that you're okay."

"I'm not okay!"

That was very true, at least at the moment. "Well, you're alive and you have a face. At least give her that. She's hurting too." Edric didn't answer, and Farkas pushed him out to arm's length then tilted up his chin to look him in the eyes, and to his surprise and worry they were shiny but no tears were falling. "You'll regret it later if you don't," he stated with certainty. Farkas was a firm believer that people always regretted more the things they had the chance to do but didn't, than the things they did that ended up being mistakes. At least making mistakes meant that you had tried.

Edric lowered his eyes, and Farkas took his hand and gave it a tug. The other man went along with obvious reluctance, keeping his gaze on the ground, letting Farkas lead him deeper into town. It wasn't hard to find the house, the biggest one in town, fitting for the folk whose family had originally founded Riverwood generations ago. It wasn't easy to start a new settlement on your own, or so Farkas imagined. The countryside was dotted with the remains of places that never made it and had been forgotten.

He knocked on the door then led Edric inside when it was opened, and when Gerdur shut it she whispered to Farkas, "Thank you, Companion."

"No problem," he replied quietly. She looked between their joined hands then up at Farkas again, and he felt his face warm slightly as he nodded. She let out a long breath of relief then smiled at him. It was good that she approved. Not necessary, but it made things easier. Edric kept his eyes on the floor and Farkas let go of his hand and gently gripped his shoulder, murmuring, "At least take the hood down. Let her see that you're better."

Edric listlessly did so, avoiding Gerdur's eyes as he stared past her to the fireplace, and she put her hands to her mouth and whispered, "Gods be praised! How?"

When his love didn't answer, Farkas stated, "A special healer. She couldn't fix everything, but most of it." He hesitated then added, "Ulfric doesn't know. Edric doesn't want anyone to know yet. The Circle does, and Jarl Vignar, but that's it."

"I…we heard about…well," she said uncomfortably. "Ulfric lied about something that no one should ever lie about, and that will be his burden to bear for some time."

"For a hell of a long time. Edric can't heal anymore because of it. If Ulfric wants his help in the war he'd better damn well make sure he's protected."

Gerdur looked horrified but didn't question it. "Well then, I will keep this visit to myself. If anyone asks who he was I will tell them that he was a shield-brother in the war. Even Hod." She put her hand on Edric's shoulder and he flinched slightly. She said to him, "You have given enough. I understand if you want to keep things quiet. Ulfric…he's a good man, but he doesn't always go about things the right way." Edric nodded, and she made a sound of grief and moved to put her arms around him. He stiffened then sagged against her, holding her tightly, and she petted his hair. She then felt the braid and pulled it out from beneath his cloak. "Good heavens, look at this," she said with a tearful laugh. "My brother would have liked it, I think."

Edric said in a bitter tone, "Only if it made me look more like a woman."

Gerdur made a sound of shock and pushed him out to look at him, and he stared at her with a hurt expression for a moment then closed his eyes and looked away. She gave him a shake and said, "How can you say such a thing? Ralof loved you!" Edric made a scoffing sound, and she said firmly, "He told us he loved you, how can you doubt that?" He opened his eyes and stared past her at the fire, a sullen scowl on his face. She took her hands away then crossed her arms and gave a brief nod. "I see. You think because he didn't prefer men that he didn't really love you? So what, maybe he didn't want you the way we all saw you wanted him, but that doesn't mean he didn't love you. _You,_ the person you were. That was what he fell in love with."

"He wasn't in love with me."

"Maybe not the way you wish he had been, but he was in love with you all the same." She made a sound of frustration then let her hands fall. "I can't believe I'm having to defend my brother to you at this point. What if he _had_ been madly in love with you the way you wanted? He'd still be right where he is now: dead and in the ground. This is so utterly…" She trailed off as Edric's chin started to tremble and his eyes filled with tears, and when she reached for him he abruptly turned away and into Farkas' arms. The big warrior held him tightly as he started to quietly weep, and she clucked her tongue and said with regret, "Oh little brother, I am sorry. I didn't…ugh."

Farkas quietly said, "I told him all the same things. He just needs time." He reached into a fold in his armor and took out a handkerchief and pressed it into Edric's hand, and his mate clutched it tightly and wept into it. He sighed heavily and petted Edric's hair as he went on to Gerdur, "It was his idea to come here."

"Well…that's…good?"

"I think so."

"Farkas, right?" He nodded. "How long have you been together?"

"Nine days. Since his birthday."

She smiled briefly at him. "That's sweet. I am happy for you both. Mara bless you for looking after him." She stared at Edric's back for a moment then asked, "He is a Companion now?"

"Aye. Kodlak told him he would be welcome in Jorrvaskr, and he is." Gerdur bit her lip, and Farkas added, "It's okay. I know Kodlak is his father."

"Ah." Gerdur's brow crumpled as she said, "But the healing. That is a _big_ problem. A very big problem. Even potions don't work?" Farkas shook his head. "I have never heard of such a thing."

"Neither did we."

"Well, there is no greater warrior in Skyrim than him, or so I have heard, and he has the thu'um and… well, magic. I don't hold with that myself, but he is Dragonborn, and if it keeps him safe, so be it." She tentatively moved close again to touch Edric's shoulder, the younger man the same height as her. She said in a softly pleading voice, "Please believe that my brother adored you. When he came home all those years ago and told us you  two had gotten married he was happy, truly happy. Hod poked and prodded at him, believe me, asking him if it was what he really wanted, and Ralof was sure of it. He said he had never thought he would love another man that way but that you would be enough to change anyone's mind."

Edric lifted his head and sniffed. "He really said that?" he mumbled.

"I have never told a lie in my life, you brat," she chided in a kindly tone. "Of course he said that."

"Then why didn't he ever tell me!"

Gerdur shrugged helplessly and shook her head. Edric huffed and wiped his eyes then finally really looked at her, and she clucked her tongue and reached out to carefully touch the scars on his cheek. "I've lost Ralof, but you are still my brother," she murmured. "I died inside when I heard the screaming from the mountain, thinking I'd lost you both. When word finally came around of what happened in Windhelm, of how you'd been so badly wounded, how you saw him in Sovngarde…I cried for hours." Another tear slipped down his cheek, and she cradled his face in her hands and gave it a gentle shake. "All this time I've imagined you crippled and in pain, living like a monk. It heals my heart to see you like this, with a new sweetheart. I want to think about you singing and laughing and flirting the way you used to, but with Farkas now. Ralof would want that for you too." Edric nodded slightly, and Gerdur clucked her tongue again and leaned up to kiss his forehead. "You'll come back and see me again, won't you?"

"Aye," he whispered.

She looked up at the Companion and Farkas smiled at her, saying, "I'll make sure he does." She nodded. He took Edric's hand and his mate wrapped his fingers around Farkas', moving closer to him. It was sad, but it pleased Farkas every time, being relied on like this. Being _needed._ He kissed Edric's temple then softly asked, "Ready to go?" Edric sniffed and nodded, a bleak expression on his face as he stared at Gerdur. This had been just a brief meeting, but it was probably all his love could handle right now. It was good though that they had run into Ralof's sister and that she had been able to tell Edric these things. Edric seemed to have the unfortunate tendency to stew, like Vilkas did. Except unlike Vilkas he kept it to himself. Which was not an altogether good thing.

Gerdur let them out of the house, closing the door behind them, and she patted Farkas on the arm, murmuring, "Thank you, Companion. You both are welcome here any time."

"I appreciate it." He left it at that and led Edric away, the younger man pulling up his hood as he went. As they neared the inn Farkas quietly asked, "What do you want to do now?" They hadn't brought the means to camp overnight anywhere, having dumped most of their gear at Jorrvaskr before heading out, and Farkas doubted that Edric would want to stay here in town. He saw Gerdur head back towards the mill, giving him a brief smile as she went, and he returned it.

"I don't know," Edric muttered. He dug into the horse's saddlebag then stopped himself, biting his lip as he clenched his fists against the leather.

Farkas watched him struggle, fighting himself, then Edric made a sound of disgust and pulled out a bottle and took a drink, a look of self-loathing on his face. The Companion leaned close to him and whispered, "Edric honey, we've got to do something about that."

"Aye," he replied in a gruff voice. "But not today."

"Not today," Farkas agreed quietly. He stayed silent as Edric drank down part of the bottle, looking as if he hated the taste of it as much as he craved it. Farkas simply couldn't comprehend it, being addicted to something. It was so foreign to him that he couldn't understand it at all. But it was bad for Edric, and so it had to go. At least it finally looked like Edric was willing to do something about it, someday. Farkas had noticed that the younger man had been trying to cut back, trying to go a little longer without, and drinking a little less when he did. It clearly wasn't enough though.

Edric put the half-full bottle back then closed the flap on the bag and stared at it, while seeming to not really see it at all. His jaw clenched then he licked his lips and deflated slightly, looking tired. He quietly said, "I love you, Farkas."

Farkas smiled in relief. "I know, sweetheart. I love you too." It was the first time he had heard Edric say it since last night. Farkas wasn't sure if he was saying it now as a way of thanking him or what, but it didn't really matter.

"I wasn't fair to Gerdur."

"She understands. This was a hard day for her too."

"I just…" He made a sound of frustration and looked up at Farkas. "I don't know how to stop being angry. I don't even know who I'm angry with." He took out the kerchief and blew his nose into it then went on, "I shouldn't be mad at Ralof for telling Hod and Gerdur what he wouldn't tell me. I shouldn't be mad at someone who's dead, but…but that's part of the problem. I didn't get to see a body. If I could've seen it… But I didn't. I saw him alive in Sovngarde, but I didn't see his body, and…Ulfric stole that from me, and I can't ever get that back. I get this… _horrible_ feeling, this sick feeling, that he's just sleeping down there. Like if I dug up the… Did they put him in a box? Is there even a box or…or just a shroud or something?"

Farkas bit his lip, letting Edric talk, the words spilling out with the faintest touch of hysteria. There was a desperation in those green eyes that was unbearably sad.

"I thought seeing his grave would give me some kind of closure, but what if there isn't any?" Edric continued unhappily. "What if I feel like this forever? It isn't fair to you. It isn't fair to expect you to put up with my…my problems."

"I didn't go into this expecting it to be fair."

Edric stared at him with a stricken expression, his mouth slightly open, then he huffed a soft, incredulous laugh. "You…" He sighed softly and shook his head. "You always know just what to say to me. To pull me back. I…don't know how you do it."

"I don't either," Farkas admitted with a touch of sheepishness, and Edric let out a short burst of laughter then snorted and blew his nose again. Farkas squeezed his shoulder. "Let's go home, okay? I'm glad you came here, but maybe it was too soon."

"It's been a year. I should've come sooner."

"I mean it's too soon when you're just now getting straightened out. You've had too much shit to deal with this last year. And you just got your face back a few months ago, and spending time with Kodlak and him dying and all that, and then us. You shouldn't be so hard on yourself. You won't feel like this forever."

Edric gazed up at him for a long moment then took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "You're right," he murmured. "I won't."

Farkas nodded and smiled, and Edric returned it, still sad, but Farkas expected that, and at least he was admitting that he knew he wouldn't always be. At least not like this.

They got on their horses and made their way back down out of the hills to the plains of Whiterun, encountering only a small pack of wolves that Edric turned aside with a shout that nearly startled Farkas out of his skin, and out of the saddle. The wolves moved aside then made their way back into the trees as he willed his heart to slow down. He supposed he was really going to have to get used to that. Maybe he needed to go on some jobs with Edric, just to wrap his mind around the shouting and the magic and all that. It was only fair that he make himself get comfortable with everything his intended was. Considering he was a werewolf and Edric had made such an effort to accept that, Farkas had to do the same with Edric.

It was late afternoon by time they returned to the city, and when Edric threw his hood back then reached for Farkas' hand the Companion felt a swell of pride and affection so great that it made it hard not to grin like a fool. It wasn't as if everyone didn't already know about them being together, but seeing it with their own eyes was different, and that it was Edric's doing meant everything to him. People smiled at them as they passed and the sun was shining and Edric seemed happy, and Mara knew Farkas certainly was.

"Do you think I should buy Breezehome?"

The question surprised Farkas, and they stopped midway up the steps to the Wind District, near the market. Edric went one step up so he could look Farkas in the eyes, which was kind of novel. The big warrior pondered the question for a moment then asked in confusion, "Why?"

"For us."

Farkas frowned slightly. "To live in?"

Edric said in a patient tone, "Yes _miingi,_ to live in." Seeing Farkas' frown deepen, he quickly added, "Someday. Not tomorrow or anything. But it's something to think about. The…future."

"I have thought about the future. A lot."

"And?"

"I hate sleeping apart. You sleeping in the whelp's quarters." Edric nodded and looked down at their joined hands, Farkas' left and Edric's right. He pulled their hands against his chest and it drew Edric's gaze back to him. He lifted his other hand and rubbed his mate's cheek with his thumb, saying with quiet sadness, "But Kodlak isn't going to last more than another month or two. After…well, after, Skjor's going to want you to join the Circle. He'll move into the Harbinger's quarters, then you can have his old room and we can live together there. When you come back from the war we'll get married, and then maybe you can buy Breezehome so we'll have room for some kids." Edric's gaze softened as those lips parted just so, that look that Farkas just couldn't get enough of. He went on, "I would marry you before that, but I want to get some things straightened out first. I want Vilkas cured so he'll go back to who he used to be so he'll be happy for me. I know he will be once the beastblood is gone. And I want your drinking problem fixed, 'cause that isn't good around kids."

Edric blinked with wide eyes, his cheeks turning pink. "You cut right through the bullshit, don't you," he whispered in amazement. Farkas grunted in response. The younger man looked away with a troubled expression, saying uneasily, "I told you I tried quitting once. For Ralof's sake. He knew it was a problem and asked me to at least try. I took myself off to Markarth, not long after Lydia died. I figured I could dry out there, and Argis never took any crap from me and would be able to deal with…me." Edric swallowed, looking pained. "I started shaking and sweating the first morning, and by noon I was hallucinating and puking. I couldn't finish out even one day. I almost…I nearly killed Argis," he finished in a whisper.

"Aw damn," Farkas whispered back. He could see the fear in Edric, how terrified he was of trying to quit. Hearing all this frightened Farkas too. The thought of a hallucinating Dragonborn frankly scared the shit out of him. "Did you see an alchemist or a healer?" His mate shook his head, looking embarrassed. Farkas was sure that Edric had thought he could do it through sheer willpower, but that wasn't going to work on something like this. Not when he had been drinking this much for this long. "Maybe you, we, should see Arcadia. People say she's the best alchemist in Skyrim, and she can be trusted. She never tells anyone anything about what other people buy from her."

Edric stared at him a moment longer then nodded and lowered his gaze. "Okay." He looked down at their hands. "Can we wait until after Kodlak…?"

"God, of course," the Companion agreed sorrowfully. Divines only knew how long getting his beloved off drink was going to take, or what it was going to do to him. Farkas feared he might not be able to handle this alone. Maybe Ria could help, since Arcadia was her aunt. Yes, he was sure Ria would be able and willing to help him, as fond as she was of Edric. But that might mean telling her who Edric was, though surely she could be trusted, unlike Torvar.

"Sweet Farkas," Edric murmured, his tone full of sadness and affection, as was his grass-green gaze. He put his free hand on the back of Farkas' head and pulled him down for a lingering kiss.

The Companion kissed him back happily, his face a bit warm at the thought of everyone seeing it, though it also made him happy, having it out in the open like this. Edric pulled back and smiled at him and Farkas returned it.

"Let's go string the lute and I'll start teaching you to play," Edric offered.

Farkas' smile broadened. "Aye, I'd like that."

"Maybe…I could even sing you a song," he said haltingly. "Ralof…he liked it when I sang."

Farkas nodded, his smile turning sad. Edric said nothing more, grief haunting his eyes, but there was hope there too. He had admitted earlier that he knew he wouldn't grieve forever. There would always be sadness there, but life always went on. Always. If it didn't you'd lose your mind. Well Farkas wasn't about to let that happen to Edric. At least Edric was reaching back and trying to work with him. You couldn't help someone who wouldn't help himself.


	22. Chapter 22

** Vilkas – 15th & 16th of Frostfall, 4E205 **

Vilkas ignored the gasps and mutters as he trudged through the mead hall towards the stairs, wondering if he was going to be able to make it down them without falling. He had barely made it up the broad stone stairway leading up to Jorrvaskr, every muscle in his body screaming with fatigue and a good dozen wounds and innumerable bruises in various stages of healing.

By some miracle he managed to get downstairs without tripping over his own feet. None of his shield-siblings came after him, though as he shouldered his way into his room he heard someone running towards the Harbinger's quarters. Well, no one had said a word to him the entire way through town either, everyone avoiding his eyes just as they had when he left…when? How long had it been? He wasn't even sure what day it was. He dropped his pack and simply stood there, so relieved to be home and so tired he couldn't think of what to do next. He thought maybe he should take off his armor, but the thought of lifting his arms to start undoing all the buckles made him want to cry. But crying would take energy he didn't have. Even lowering himself to the floor to pass out was more than he could handle doing.

There was a soft curse behind him then a muttered, "Help me out here, lad. And keep your mouth shut." The only answer was a quiet grunt. Vilkas let his eyes flutter closed as two pairs of hands divested him of his tattered cloak and his notched sword then began working on his armor. There was a prim sound of distaste and Vilkas faintly acknowledged that he probably smelled worse than a troll's backside at the moment. Smell. He could smell wisps of cinnamon and mead on one side, with the comforting scent of familiar male wolf on the other. Good smells. Home smells.

"Oh my," a quavering voice said in worry. "A bath, should I start a bath?"

"Aye Tilma. Thank you."

Vilkas wasn't really sure he could make it back out of his quarters to the bathing room, but he couldn't stand the thought of crawling into his bed filthy. "Just…lay on the floor," he mumbled.

"Hang in there a bit longer, brother."

"Where," he whispered. "Where's Farkas?" At the moment he needed his brother more than he had ever needed anything in this life.

"On a job with Njada in Falkreath. Don't worry, you're in good hands."

Vilkas forced his eyes open and stared blearily at Skjor. "I need my brother."

"He'll be back in a couple days." Skjor dropped the last piece of armor to the floor then put Vilkas' right arm around his shoulders. "Lean on me and the lad'll get your boots off."

Vilkas did so, and he saw movement then felt a tug. He glanced down and saw white-streaked hair, pulled back into a loose ponytail that cascaded down a slim back. Edric recoiled and let out a quiet obscenity, tossing the boots aside then quickly standing, his expression one of disgust.

"Come on, help me get him to the bath," Skjor ordered. The young man made a sound of dread but moved under Vilkas' left arm.

"Ah fuck," Edric choked.

"Man up," the Harbinger said in exasperation.

"I'm helping. Don't expect me to like it." Vilkas lowered his nose to Edric's hair and the younger man sighed tiredly, "Ah great. That's great."

"Smell good," Vilkas murmured.

"Well, I imagine anything would at this point. Draugr. Mammoth dung." Skjor hissed at Edric and he fell silent with a grumble.

Between the two of them they got Vilkas back down the hall to the bathing room, where Tilma was filling the stone tub. She made a sound of worry, and when they neared she reached up to pat his face with a shaking hand and chide, "Fool boy, what in Shor's name!"

"Dead horse," Vilkas mumbled. Tilma clucked her tongue and undid his doublet for him then helped the two men undress him and remove the bandages from his wounds. Vilkas didn't mind. She used to change his diapers and wipe his snotty nose as a babe. If he had to call anyone Mother it would be her. He supposed he did look like a wreck; he glanced down at himself and he was covered with cuts and bruises. Eorlund wasn't going to be too thrilled with the state of his armor. Again.

Skjor and Edric got him into the bath and the young man stood back as the older Companion and Tilma began washing Vilkas, who stared ahead with heavy-lidded eyes, barely able to keep them open. Edric folded his arms and pinched his bottom lip, watching, and when Vilkas blinked and raised his eyes to him the young man narrowed his own then looked away.

"Should I heal him now?" he asked in an edgy tone.

"Not yet," Skjor murmured. "The pain's probably helping to keep him awake." As Tilma soaped up Vilkas' hair, the older Companion asked him, "Run out of potions?"

"Aye," Vilkas whispered.

"You _cannot_ go on jobs alone," he said firmly, angry concern in his voice. "Where did you take yourself off to?"

"Robber's Gorge."

Skjor sputtered in disbelief. "No more of this," he demanded. "What in Oblivion were you thinking?"

"I'm an asshole," Vilkas mumbled.

"Yeah, lately you have been. I'm glad you recognize that. The question is, what are you going to do about it, other than trying to get yourself killed?" Skjor made a sound of frustration, shaking his head. "Never mind right now. Did you at least finish the job?"

"Aye."

"And the pay?"

"My pack." He tipped his head back so Tilma could rinse his hair, and he sighed and closed his eyes, enjoying the pampering. His mind was too fuzzy right now to remember the last time he had gotten any. Tilma was getting too old to baby him and Farkas as she used to, and of course he was too old to be cossetted. Except by a wife, of course, but it was becoming fairly obvious by now that he would never have one. Farkas would have his pretty little dragon husband and Vilkas would… He wasn't sure what he would do. He was too exhausted and sore to think straight. But maybe right now he _was_ thinking straight.

Skjor said, "So you cleared out the camp and got your pay. What did all this?" He gestured with the soap to Vilkas' battered body.

"Frost trolls. I cut through Labyrinthian after sabre cats got my horse."

"Are you out of your damn mind!" the old warrior exclaimed.

"Of course I am," Vilkas stated in confusion. "I thought everyone knew that." It was silent for near half a minute after that. Well, he was out of his mind. He had to be. He didn't know how else to explain why he kept acting like he did. He wasn't stupid; he could tell the difference, if only in how the townsfolk were behaving towards him. Everything in Jorrvaskr was a fucked up mess lately, but the town was the same as it had always been, the people all the same, so he was the only variable there.

Tilma whispered in a pained tone, "Oh honey, no you're not. You're just going through a rough patch." She kissed his damp forehead and he smiled briefly as he opened his eyes. She clucked her tongue and shook her head, looking deeply worried, then went to get a drying cloth. She brought it back over and dried his hair as Skjor moved to let out the water, and she leaned close to him and murmured, "Will you go see Kodlak when you wake up? He's been worried sick about you." Vilkas nodded, and she kissed his forehead again. "Good boy." She looked at Edric, hesitating, then she said in grief, "He is."

Vilkas' eyes moved to the younger man, who was now standing against one of the stone walls, his arms folded tightly. When their eyes met Edric stared at Vilkas for a moment then sighed tiredly and looked at Tilma as he stated, "That makes it even worse, Tilma. That makes it deliberate."

"You know what it is to have conviction. To feel so strongly you have to do something that you follow through no matter the cost to yourself or anyone else."

He gazed at her in surprise, and after a moment he said with a touch of guilt, "Yes, I do. More than almost anyone else on Nirn. But that isn't what he's doing. What he's doing is pointless. A cure will come either way, and what he does in the meantime is completely irrelevant to the end result."

Skjor shook his head at him and said wearily, "Not now."

"Why not now? Now is a very good time, seeing as how he's behaving like a sane, normal person at the moment."

"You're part of the problem, you know that, right? Not the biggest part by far, but you _are_ part of it."

"If you mean my existing, and living in this hall, yeah, I do know that," Edric stated with growing anger.

 _"Not now,"_ Skjor repeated firmly, holding Edric's eyes.

Edric ignored him and quickly moved over to the tub and leaned down with his hands on either side and demanded of Vilkas, "Apologize." Skjor sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead, and Edric pressed, "Tell me you're sorry for bringing up Ralof."

Vilkas frowned at him for a moment then said, "I will if you apologize for bringing up Jergen." Edric glared at him furiously but clearly wasn't going to be the one to give. Ah, but he was adorable when he was angry, with his little nose all scrunched up and those verdant eyes glittering.

"That is enough," Tilma scolded. "What on earth is wrong with you two!"

Skjor stated in disgust, "They're too much alike, that's what's wrong with them." He lightly hit the back of his hand against Edric's shoulder. "Back off." Edric's glare shifted to him, and he gestured to Vilkas and said, "We don't kick shield-brothers when they're down."

Edric slowly stood and said with quiet intensity, "Oh, yes. I'll remember that. What a valuable life lesson you've imparted to me, Harbinger."

The older Companion stated in irritation, "Someone should've paddled your ass more as a kid." He shook his head at him and said, "Help me get him out and to his room then you can go on your merry way."

Vilkas made a sound of dread and tried to stand on his own but nearly slipped, and Edric grumbled and moved to help him get out of the tub before he fell and cracked his head open. The two men held him steady as Tilma dried him off then wrapped the sheet around his waist and tucked it tightly. The feel of Edric's skin against his own was pleasant and troubling at the same time, warm and sweetly scented, the smaller body nearly thrumming with strength, making Vilkas painfully aware of his own nudity. He supposed he should be thankful that he was so completely beaten down at this point that there was really no way he could react to it other than to feel a helpless despair.

Tilma hurried ahead to pull back the covers of his bed, and he sank down into it with a grateful sigh as she pulled the blankets up and tucked him in, just as she always had when the twins were little and their worthless father was off on a job. Those had been good times, when Jergen was away and Vilkas could breathe freely without those cold silver eyes always watching him for any sign of rebellion or misbehavior. Tilma would read them bedtime stories and bring them into the kitchen with her to make sweetrolls and pies, something Jergen disapproved of when he was around. No, Talos forbid that his sons end up bookish or doing something he considered woman's work. Talos forbid his sons end up soft in any way. Well, as before, Vilkas wasn't stupid. He felt low enough right now to realize how relieved everyone must have been while _he_ was gone this last week. Still, someone had cared enough to run to Skjor and let him know Vilkas needed help. It was a pleasant thought.

The old woman patted his cheek and he closed his eyes with a sigh, his body still sore and aching, but he felt safe here, even with the angry little green-eyed dragon glowering at him, and in the next instant he felt soothing warmth flow through his body. The pain receded and he murmured gratefully and turned his face into the pillow. He heard someone rifling through the papers on his desk, maybe Skjor looking at the contracts, and indeed as the flow of healing magic cut off he vaguely heard the older warrior murmur something and Edric's assent a moment later, followed by Skjor's quiet order to take Ria with him.

"Are you sure? I was planning to eventually, but…"

"You can trust her." A snort of amusement. "The girl's got fire, but I guarantee she'll take it better than Aela did."

 _That's…odd,_ Vilkas thought sleepily. That was the only thought he could spare before he was out.

When next he woke his body was stiff and sore from not changing position for however long he had slept. With the living quarters underground and windowless it was impossible to tell the time.

He stared at the room divider, still tired, though he had slept well just from sheer and utter exhaustion. It really hadn't been worth the price he had nearly paid. As it was the Companions were out a horse and its accompanying tack, something that would come out of his savings to replace. He had nearly gotten thrown as the pair of saber cats and their three half-grown cubs had come out of nowhere in the hills above Morthal, not an hour after he had picked up his pay from Pactur, Jarl Sorli's husband and steward. Cutting through Labyrinthian had been an idiotic idea, but Vilkas had figured he would sneak through it easily enough on foot, more easily than on a horse, anyway. The place had been infested with frost trolls and he had barely escaped with his life, already out of potions other than one minor one for stamina, which he had guzzled down after leaving the ruins, giving him just enough energy to bandage himself up. He had cut straight across the plains, praying that he didn't run into sabre cats again. Wolves usually left his kind alone, but not the big cats.

Vilkas sighed tiredly and sat up, feeling like a fool for doing something so reckless, something that could have sent him straight to the Hunting Grounds. He couldn't even feel any pride over his accomplishment, though he supposed it would make for a good tale around the fire at dinner. Or it would if he was still welcome there.

Feeling a surge of resentment, he hauled himself out of bed and pulled off the drying cloth that was tangled around him. He lit a few more candles and took a look at the damage, seeing new scars, and he felt a tug on his cheek that wasn't there before. He pulled out the polished copper mirror that he used for shaving and saw a thin scar running down his left cheek and into his beard that hadn't been there before, and he couldn't recall if it had been the sabre cats or the trolls. The entire time from Morthal on was one big blur. The scar wasn't bad though. It wasn't disfiguring. Nothing like the old burns on Edric's face.

He frowned and looked at his table, vaguely recalling Skjor going through his things, and his small pile of contracts was gone. He fumed over that for a few minutes as he dressed, knowing he had little call to complain of it. They were ones he should have parceled out sooner and hadn't because of his…moods, insanity, whatever it was. None of them were kidnappings, so none were what he considered urgent, but he still should have handed them out.

Vilkas closed his eyes and took a deep breath, grieved and angry, in a dull sort of way, unable to summon up the energy to really fuss too much about any of it. Someone had picked up his armor and sword, probably to take to Eorlund for repairs. His shield-siblings had taken up the slack, had taken care of him, just as shield-siblings should. Even Edric had, though he had whined about it. Still, he had, and had healed him as well. Handy that, having a healer in-house. Vilkas recalled right before he fell asleep hearing Skjor give Edric one of the contracts and telling him to take the girl with him. _She'll take it better than Aela did,_ Skjor had said, sounding amused. That made no sense at all. Take what better?

Dressed in a tunic and pants, Vilkas left his room and saw Farkas' door closed, and he knocked on it with the slight hope that his twin was back, and when no one answered he cracked the door open, finding the room dark and empty, his brother's scent faint.

He sighed and closed the door, lonely, and headed out to the main hallway. No one was around, but Kodlak's doors were open, as were Aela's and Skjor's. His stomach was growling with hunger but he headed for the Harbinger's quarters anyway to check on the old man.

The rasp of Kodlak's labored breathing greeted him before he reached the outer doors. He grit his teeth and went through the open bedroom door, seeing the former Harbinger sitting propped up against a mound of pillows. The sight of his foster father hit him like a fist in the gut. How had the old man gotten so much feebler in just a week? Or had Vilkas just not paid enough attention lately? Kodlak's cheeks were sunken in and the smell of sickness was heavy in the air, a rancid burst of it every time his breath rattled out of him. He was writing in that damned journal, his hand steady but looking almost too weak to hold the quill. He glanced up at Vilkas and his bright silver eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled in relief, and the affection there made it feel like a hand had clenched itself around the Companion's heart.

"Ah, my boy," he croaked.

"Master," Vilkas whispered, blinking against tears of grief. For the first time in years Kodlak didn't correct him.

"We've worried." The young man nodded, lowering his eyes. Kodlak went on, "I trust you won't do that again."

"I will not," Vilkas promised. He raised his eyes and Kodlak held them for a moment then sighed, followed by a spasm of coughs into a kerchief that was already red and rust brown. The sight made Vilkas suddenly feel like bawling. It all seemed like a nightmare, this last year, and yet out of the vampires and the beastblood and everything else, this in front of him was the worst of all, watching someone slowly die, someone he loved more than anyone but his brother.

The old man slowly shook his head then weakly lifted his hand, and Vilkas made a sound of grief and came over to take it and sit on the bed. The hand was nothing but skin over bone, when only a year and a half ago Kodlak had still been able to best Vilkas and Skjor in arm wrestling matches. The rot could strike anyone and no one knew why. Sometimes it started in the lungs, as this had, sometimes the breast or the womb in women…one never knew who it would strike or when. It was rare, but when it struck all that could be done was to make the victim comfortable. Kodlak didn't seem to be in pain, but it had to feel horrible to struggle for every breath.

"I love you as if you were my own son," Kodlak wheezed. Vilkas nodded, his eyes wet. "I wish I hadn't made you promise to abstain from the hunt. I thought it would provide you the clarity that it gave me. I was wrong." He weakly squeezed the younger man's hand. "We all take to the blood differently. When your brother…" He laughed. "I thought he would be the one to have trouble with it, you know. Biggest damn wolf any of us had ever seen, and feral as the Wild Hunt itself. We could barely keep him contained in the Underforge. And yet out of all of us his beast has become the tamest. The gentleness of his soul manifests itself there."

"I do not have a gentle soul," Vilkas muttered.

"Jergen managed you poorly, and that is all there is to it," Kodlak said in a brusque tone. He made a sound of impatience. "The beastblood sat as well with him as it does with you, and…hm. He had issues, even before, but Askar and I both thought that your mother's death unhinged Jergen slightly. He never would tell us how he found you and Farkas, or where. He was…wild, when he came back, with you two naked and squalling under his arms like a pair of bear cubs. I shudder to think…" He trailed off as Vilkas' eyes closed, a look of pain on his face. Kodlak patted his cheek. "Your father loved you both, in his rough way."

"Loved us so much he ran off to join a war that everyone already knew we were losing?" Vilkas countered bitterly. Gods, he did _not_ want to talk about this. Not now, not ever. The old man knew this was the sorest of subjects, and no doubt felt he had to clear the air or something, now that he was on death's door. Well if that was what it took to make Kodlak happy, so be it. He supposed it was only what he deserved, and best he sit here and take it now while he was momentarily feeling halfway normal. It sent a shiver of fear through him, wondering how long it would last this time.

"He would have left years before that if not for you two. He thought I would make a better father than he had up to that point, and you already had a mother in Tilma." He shook his head in warning. "Your father's grief and anger ate him alive. Don't let it do the same to you, son. I beg you."

Vilkas gave him no promises. He couldn't. He would be a liar if he tried to do so.

Kodlak sighed and shook his head again, leaning back further into the pillows as he murmured, "Promise me at least that you will not try to come between your brother and Edric."

"Could I at this point?" he retorted.

"No. No you could not, but the attempt would cause a rift between you and your brother." He let go of Vilkas' hand and stated, "Regardless of your long-held opinion of your twin's mental faculties, he has a certain wisdom. A way with people. I've seen Farkas and Edric together, here in front of me. There is real love there, Vilkas." The younger Companion made a hurt sound and looked away. "Farkas did what he did all these years out of love for you—"

"Bullshit," Vilkas said harshly. "He did it because he was a coward. Because it was easy."

"Yes, partly. Just like he did with Jergen."

Vilkas recoiled from that, a look of betrayal on his face. And yet he couldn't deny the truth of it. He could hear his twin's boyish voice saying _Sure Pa, no problem Pa_ in that same amiable way, a young Farkas nodding agreeably just as he had with Vilkas their entire teen and adult lives. The few times Farkas had tried to really, truly stand up to his twin Vilkas had either retreated into coldness or flown into a rage. Just like Jergen. All right, fine, he had inherited certain aspects of temperament from his father. It wasn't as if he could help that. He was nowhere near as bad though. He would never have treated his own son in such a way. Not that he had any chance of ever needing to worry about that.

"You're angry with your brother," Kodlak said, not quite a question.

"Twenty years he lied to me," Vilkas said tightly, nearly grinding his teeth together as he spat out the words. "Twenty years of letting me think…" He made a sound of furious frustration and ran his hand over his face. He could feel the anger bubbling back up inside him, an insidious poison, one he tried desperately to shove back down with only partial success.

"Yes, and he should not have done that," the old man agreed with regret. "I hadn't realized until Edric came along that Farkas had no real attraction to women. I knew they weren't his preference, but that was it. I was as shocked as anyone would be when he told me he loved the lad." He coughed, but it was slight, then he continued, "I gave your brother my blessing to court Edric. I did not give that blessing lightly, Vilkas. I did not ignore our traditions lightly. Skjor and Aela think I'm getting soft in my old age, as I'm dying. Perhaps they are right. But is that a bad thing?"

Vilkas gazed at him for a long moment with a look of deep sorrow then whispered, "No," and felt the brief surge of anger subside, for now. Yes, Kodlak was dying. He reeked of death, looked little better than a draugr, his skin nearly gray, stretched taut over bone. Vilkas had no idea at all how the old man was taking his demise with such grace. Vilkas would have raged against his fate. He would rather meet his end in battle early on and accept an afterlife in the Hunting Grounds than let himself waste away like this.

"Skjor is made of sterner stuff than I am," Kodlak said in a tone of amusement, "as is Aela, and yet even they have no real issue with the relationship. Perhaps because they realize it is a poor use of their time to concern themselves with it. Aela isn't particularly happy with the whelp lately, but that has nothing to do with him being Farkas' man."

"Aela. I overheard Skjor telling Edric to take Ria on a job, that she would take something better than Aela did." He then blinked and stated in a bemused tone, "What day is it? I…don't know what day it is."

Kodlak snorted a laugh and answered, "The 16th of Frostfall, not quite lunchtime, so you haven't slept terribly long. Did quite the number on yourself, didn't you."

"Aye," he muttered sheepishly.

"A few nights ago Edric told Aela he was Dragonborn." Vilkas went still, the only motion the sight of his throat bobbing as he swallowed. Kodlak narrowed his eyes and murmured, "Yes, she had no idea of it…unlike _you."_ Vilkas swallowed again as he avoided the former Harbinger's gaze. The old man said in disapproval, "You knew. You knew and kept it to yourself. You knew, and still you gave him grief over Ralof."

Vilkas whispered, "I have no excuse for what I did and said."

"That is very true." Kodlak lifted his chin and said with continuing aggravation, "Before Farkas won him over he was going to let the war take him, did you know that? He thought I couldn't see it, but his own death was in his eyes. He had no intention of surviving war with the elves. He thought to humor me for a few months then let the Thalmor send him to his husband in Sovngarde. Did you know that, Vilkas?" The young man was pale as his eyes met Kodlak's briefly then nervously slid away again. "No? It's good to see there are places even you won't go. I suppose it is one thing to needle a widower, another to needle someone who was borderline suicidal. He visited Ralof's grave on the 13th. It was the first time he was able to gather the courage to go, and only because Farkas was with him. He saw his sister-by-marriage at the grave, the sister that looks too much like her brother. Farkas said he was quite…distraught."

Vilkas closed his eyes. Yes, he could imagine Edric was quite, quite upset. He had probably wept. Vilkas knew quite well what Edric sounded like when he cried. Kodlak was justifiably angry over it. Over Vilkas' behavior in general.

Kodlak went on, "Your brother figured out on his own that Edric was Dragonborn, the day after they left here for Eastmarch, on the lad's birthday. Perhaps you should start giving your twin more credit for his intelligence. I would also brace myself if I were you, because he found out that you know, and how long you've known, and he has _words_ for you."

The surge of dread that filled him at that news was surprising. He had never felt it before with regard to Farkas, but right now the thought of his brother being angry with him was actually a bit frightening. It would be a different kind of anger than Vilkas had seen before, and he had no idea how he was going to handle it. He had always known just how far he could push Farkas before his twin grew truly angry, but when it came to Farkas' feelings for Edric he had no idea at all where that line was.

"I have grown to love Edric a great deal," Kodlak continued sternly, "but that love is no greater than that which I have for you. You've been like a son to me, and it wounds me to see strife between you."

"I'm sorry, Master," Vilkas whispered as he opened his eyes with a shudder. This, _this_ was what hurt most, even more than his brother's anger. He had disappointed Kodlak. He briefly hoped that Kodlak didn't know everything that Vilkas had done the last couple weeks. It was a dim hope to be sure.

"Yes, right now I honestly believe that you are," the older man said with less forcefulness. "It makes me believe that one day the mess in this hall might actually get sorted out. However I fear it will not happen without an immense amount of pain involved. I feel…" He shook his head slightly, coughing. "Well, what I feel won't matter much longer. It will be Skjor's problem to straighten out as best he can, not mine." Vilkas' brow furrowed but he said nothing in response. "The only problem I wish to concern myself with right now is the cure. I think I know what must be done. I will not live long enough to see it done with my own eyes, however there may be a way to cure my lycanthropy, even after I am gone."

Vilkas frowned in confusion, even as he ached with grief. The anticipation of grief. "How?" he asked. "When you pass, Hircine will come for your soul."

"Only if he can find it." Vilkas shook his head, not understanding, and Kodlak continued, "You know our history better than any of us. You know the legends of the Tomb of Ysgramor, and the Flame of the Harbingers."

"Aye. 'There the souls of the Harbingers will heed the call of northern steel.'" There the soul of a departed Harbinger lingered for a time, before continuing on to Sovngarde. Or that was how it had been before the curse was laid upon them. The Flame of the Harbingers drew them there, powered by some ancient Atmoran magic that was lost to the ages. The thought sent a shiver down Vilkas' spine, wondering how many of the ancient Five Hundred Companions of Ysgramor might have used the Clever Craft. The tales of their deeds were fantastic, legendary, and yet…and yet he couldn't help wondering how they had done what they had without magic. _How_ had they conquered an entire race of elves and driven them into hiding with steel alone? He had memorized every word and every line of the eight remaining volumes of the original fifty-six chronicles of the original Companions that were in their possession, those parts that could still be deciphered, and he had seen no mention of magic, other than the story of how Yngol had forged Wuuthrad at sea using Ysgramor's tears, and even that was not a conclusive use of it.

"Yes. I think there is some small window of time before Hircine comes to lay his claim. I plan to make use of it to escape his clutches." Kodlak fell into a spasm of hacking coughs that left him wrung out and gasping at the end. Vilkas sat silently, his eyes squeezed shut, and when it was over the old man grasped his wrist and whispered, "Bring Eorlund to me."

Vilkas nodded, and as he stood Kodlak motioned to the journal and the tray it was upon, unable to summon enough breath to speak again. The Companion averted his eyes from the writing there as he closed the book, the ink probably dry by now, and set it on the side table along with the inkwell and quill, then he set the tray against the night stand and left, practically fleeing the thick, wet sound of Kodlak's breathing. It sounded as if he was drowning in his own blood.

His skin crawling, he ignored his hunger, and his lack of shoes, long enough to head through the empty mead hall and up to the forge, where the two Gray-Manes were at work mending his armor. It was threatening to rain, though that meant little up here under the shelter of the wings of the massive stone bird that dominated the Skyforge, the great hawk of Kyne that had originally drawn the crew of the Jorrvaskr here.

The old smith grunted at him, not pausing in his work. "You got a death wish, boy?" he asked curtly. Avulstein snorted, not looking up from the leather in his lap.

"Not particularly," Vilkas replied in just as terse a tone. He had to admit the armor was a wreck, but what was the smith here for if not to put it back to rights?

"It'll take us close to a week to fix all this."

His anger rising, he asked, "Did my nearly dying ruin some unknown plans of yours?" Eorlund slowly lowered his hammer at the same time that he raised his eyes, and the hard look there let Vilkas quickly know that he was getting dangerously close to crossing a line that no Companion should ever cross. He stated, "Kodlak wants to see you," then he turned on his heel and stalked off. He heard Avulstein grumble something under his breath and really didn't care what the younger man thought, Vilkas' mood now rather foul.

A wave of nausea let him know that he couldn't put off eating any longer, and he went back in through the front doors and threw himself into a chair and grabbed the closest thing to eat, an apple tart, until he could get his temper back under control and go to the kitchen for a proper meal. He put his elbows on the table and his forehead in his hands, struggling to stuff the anger back down. The amount of difficulty he was having sent a stabbing zing of fear through him. It was like a living thing he was wrestling with, like one of those monstrous snakes he had heard populated Black Marsh, fifty feet long and able to wrap around a man and strangle the life out of him before swallowing him whole.

He was still there when the back door opened several minutes later, and the familiar sound of Aela's soft boots made him tense as he readied himself for the inevitable lecture. She took the seat next to him then pulled it close, and her scent wafted around him a moment before her hand fell on his shoulder. She smelled like the wind, and female wolf, and leather, and the pine-scented soap she preferred. Nothing soft and floral for his sister, oh no, though there was no mistaking she was a woman. She made quite certain that no one ever forgot that.

"It's good to see you in one piece, brother," she murmured. He grunted in response, not lifting his head. "Ria told me what happened. Perhaps you've learned a lesson."

"Perhaps," he muttered. He felt her give his shoulder a squeeze, and he sighed and lifted his head. He glanced at her sideways and the concern in her silver eyes was real. Well, he supposed it always was, when she let it show. Deception and dancing around were nowhere in her nature.

She let her hand fall away and said in a wry tone, "For all your talk of avoiding the Hunting Grounds, you seem determined to find a way to send yourself there." The front door opened and she looked up to see Eorlund come in, the master smith casting a look of deep irritation at Vilkas as he went. Aela barked a laugh and said to her shield-brother, "You have a gift. I could swear that when Arkay split you and Farkas asunder that—"

"Yes, yes, spare me," he snapped tiredly. It wasn't as if he hadn't heard that worn old line a hundred times before. He had the brains; Farkas had the brawn. He was hopeless with people, and Farkas was not. Each had traits the other lacked, as if the god of Birth and Death and the Eternal Balance had taken what should have been one complete person and divvied him up into two.

"It wouldn't do to alienate the smith."

"Again, something that goes without saying."

She held up her hands. "All right, all right." She leaned back in the chair and folded her arms. "The whelp came clean with me a few nights ago."

"So Kodlak told me," he muttered, starting to pick at the pastry.

"I was rather…miffed." Vilkas let out a short laugh at that, making her smile. "I'm still not sure who I was angrier with: him for hiding, you for knowing and not saying anything, or myself for being slow," she stated with amusement. "I can't believe ice brains figured it out before I did."

"Yes, well, I am certain he has been observing the whelp much more closely than the rest of us." Aela sighed and shook her head. He grumbled and stated through a mouthful of apple tart, "I am staying out of it from now on. It…is not my place to…dictate. Who Farkas...beds."

Aela lifted a red eyebrow as the words practically forced themselves out of his mouth. "Uh huh," she murmured. "And you still think that is all that's going on." He didn't answer, scowling at the pastry in his hands. "I thought so," she stated. "I know nothing of relationships beyond pack bonds and care for my shield-siblings, and by Mara I hope to keep it that way for a while yet, but even I can see that what they have is true. They're not simply fucking around, Vilkas. He's teaching Farkas to play the lute, and Farkas has promised to help him quit drinking, for good. Farkas eases his grief, and Edric brings out his strength. When they look at each other no one else exists. The two of them…mesh."

Vilkas' mouth twisted as he stared at the fire. No, he supposed Edric and Farkas weren't just fornicating, and he supposed that between Aela and Kodlak he had to finally give in and force himself to realize that there was simply no way to ever realize his long-held plans. It made his gut flutter to think of what he had been prepared to do in order to separate his brother from the whelp. He honestly wondered if Farkas would have honored his promise to Vilkas, that promise he still held in reserve. Even if his twin had done so, there would have been Edric to deal with. The Dragonborn would react quite badly indeed to Vilkas' interference. Might even react violently. Vilkas knew better than anyone else here the kind of temper the little dragon held in check, one that rivaled Vilkas' own, fueled by something for which there was no cure.

He stifled the shiver that ran through him at the thought of the younger man leaning over the tub, green eyes blazing. Most of last night was hazy, but he remembered that. That and the spicy smell and the soothing warmth of a healing spell, and Skjor telling Edric to take Ria on a job with him. The Harbinger's words suddenly made perfect sense. It was rather a shock. Edric was going to tell Ria that he was the Dragonborn. Did he plan to tell everyone?

Unaware of his thoughts, Aela continued, "I realize it will distress you to hear it, but I think the pup is going to take the beastblood."

Startled, Vilkas firmly said with a shake of his head, "No."

"The decision isn't yours to make."

"I will not lend my vote to him joining the Circle!" Vilkas hissed.

Aela shrugged. "You won't need to. The Harbinger and two others are all that is required. Farkas wants him to do it, I can tell. Farkas wants them moon-wed." Vilkas made a sound of distaste, shaking his head again as he threw the remains of the pastry onto the plate before him. Aela took it from him and broke off a piece as she stated, "I have only so much energy and it is better spent on things other than fussing about a pack brother determined to take a mate. I'm well aware that it isn't the first time it has happened, nor will it be the last."

"It _should_ be the last. The curse should die with us," Vilkas demanded.

"Being moon-born is not always a curse, Vilkas. I've…come around to Kodlak's way of thinking on it. Let it be a choice, so that we can keep up our strength. This has never been a traditional pack. It never can be. It was never _meant_ to be. Let the whelp take the blood and bind himself to Farkas. It will bind him to Jorrvaskr as well, and maybe, just maybe, be enough to keep him alive next year. He can no longer heal magically, but our strength comes from a difference source."

Vilkas turned in his seat and leaned close to Aela, whispering harshly, "If they form a mating bond and Edric dies, it will kill my brother." Bonding with Edric was potential suicide, if not of the body then definitely of the spirit. Werewolves didn't die when they lost a mate, but if the bond was deep enough they sometimes lost the will to live. Even normal elderly folk sometimes wasted away when their spouse died. He went on heatedly, "And think on it, would you! He's the fucking Dragonborn! How would he explain to Ulfric why his eyes have changed? How would he keep his head in battle with the beastblood boiling inside him?"

Aela shrugged one shoulder. "He'll explain it the way all of us do: a side effect of the ritual that comes with joining the Circle. And how do any of us keep our head in a fight?"

"It is war, not some…some extended job!" He found Aela's lack of concern maddening. Even the worst job was nothing like being on the battlefield, surrounded by the dead and dying and the unending smell of blood. Surrounded by what amounted to meat. That was asking too much of even the most experienced werewolf.

"I have confidence in Edric's ability to control himself. He manages with the blood of a dragon in his veins, after all."

"Yes, and how well do you think that will mix with the blood of a wolf?" At that he was satisfied to finally see a bit of concern from her.

"Not well, I'm sure. Frankly Skjor and I have wondered if it would even take for him. We don't fool ourselves that the beastblood is stronger than the gift of Akatosh. If it succeeds it will no doubt be a rough transformation."

"Rough transformation," he said in disbelief, then he sputtered and stood, shoving the chair back. "Your talent for understatement never ceases to amaze me, sister."

Aela stated, "In the end, it is his choice to make, his risk to take. He'll be given the information at hand and decide from there."

Vilkas shook his head curtly and waved her off, heading for the kitchen, unable to help feeling a bit sick to his stomach over the nagging sense of doom hanging over everything, one he hadn't been able to completely shake since the day Edric had first walked up the steps to Jorrvaskr a year ago. Hearing all this from Aela, he was quite sure that Edric would choose to take the beastblood, if only to make certain that he had someone who couldn't leave him, someone who would be physically incapable of ever wanting anyone but him. The reasons were so obvious it was laughable. Pitiable. Edric would otherwise never choose such a thing.

He wondered how Farkas would live with himself if that first change went badly and Edric went mad or died, which was a not-uncommon occurrence. Well, he supposed Farkas was a big boy and would have no choice but to live with the consequences of it. When the Circle met after Kodlak's death Vilkas would have his say, and he would do his best to argue his point rationally, hard as that would be. And if Edric was accepted into the Circle and given the choice of taking the blood Vilkas would argue his point again. He had to at least give Farkas and Edric food for thought. He wasn't going to have it said that he simply stood by and let tragedy unfold without having his say and trying to stop it.

When he went into the kitchen he saw Tilma forming dinner rolls, and when she smiled at him and her face crinkled he felt some of the tension ebb from him.

"Did you get enough sleep dear?" she asked with concern.

"Not really, but I'm fine."

She looked him over then gave a nod. "The lad fixed you up just right."

"Yes, he's…eh, a good healer."

"Hungry?"

"Aye." There were so many wonderful smells competing with each other in here that his nose couldn't sort them all out.

"Help me finish up these rolls and I'll make you a sandwich."

He hesitated, and when she lowered her head and looked at him from beneath raised brows he nodded and took a seat on a stool at the floured work table, feeling awkward. She handed him a large chunk of raised dough and he stared at it for a moment, feeling a sudden pang of nostalgia. He glanced at her again, wondering if this was going to be the precursor to one of her gentle sermons, but she simply smiled at him then nodded towards the dough in front of him. He cleared his throat and picked up the soft mass, glad that his hands were still clean from last night, and he watched her for a moment before trying to mimic her technique. She made it seem so easy as she pinched off just the right amount of dough, rolled it quickly in her hands into a perfect ball, then set it on the baking stone. Tilma was the mistress of her domain just as surely as he was a master of the great-sword.

He made a few ugly, misshapen rolls but Tilma just smiled at him in approval. The silent work was soothing, something he hadn't done in so long that he honestly couldn't remember when last he had done it. Maybe not since he had hit his teen years and his dignity had become so terribly important to him. Not that it still wasn't, but it wasn't as if making rolls was undignified or beneath him. He hoped Jergen was watching from the Hunting Grounds right now, howling his damned head off over the thought of it, the stupid dog. Maybe tomorrow Vilkas could make a pie just as a big 'fuck you' to—

Tilma clucked her tongue, and Vilkas took a deep breath to cool his anger as he realized he had squeezed the dough so hard it was oozing out between his fingers. He took another breath then focused only on helping Tilma, but he was unable to get back that initial peaceful feeling. If only he had a hobby like Farkas' carving, but with his temperament that would be a disaster. Farkas was good with his hands. Maybe he would even be good at playing the lute. Vilkas hadn't realized Edric could play. Yet another thing that Farkas hadn't seen fit to share with him, and why should he? It wasn't as if it was relevant to anything or that Vilkas cared. But at the moment, drained as he was, his temper under control for just a little while…it was hard not to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Vilkas...I tried to give a bit more insight into his character and make him more sympathetic, as he was pretty jerktastic in prior chapters. And he will be again, of course, but the guy needed a bit of a reprieve.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish there was a way to post artwork more easily to go along with the fics. Here's a link to the 'cover' of this story:  
> http://opalbee.deviantart.com/art/The-Twins-of-Jorrvaskr-434465477

** Farkas, 19th of Frostfall, 4E205 **

The sight of his twin sparring with Skjor made a bit of the tension in Farkas's shoulders relax. It had been too long since he had seen Vilkas acting halfway normal. The two experienced warriors moved around each other deftly, neither giving ground, their eyes keen. There was a faint scar on Vilkas' left cheek that hadn't been there before, but his brother was alive at least.

He took a seat opposite Athis at one of the small side tables on the porch, and the dark elf nodded to him in greeting. "How goes it, Athis?" he asked, keeping his voice down so as not to draw Vilkas' attention quite yet. Now that he'd had time to think he wasn't all that eager to have words with his twin, especially when Vilkas seemed better. But then that should be the best time, right? When Vilkas was calm and would listen? Or would it send him back the other way and ruin whatever balance it seemed he had found, even if it was temporary?

"Fine, for now," the Dunmer muttered. "It's been quiet lately." Farkas grunted and nodded in understanding. "Though that might be because the whelp is out."

"Aye." Tilma had told him that his beloved was away on a job and wouldn't be back for days yet. It was disappointing that he was gone, but good that he was still taking his place here seriously.

"Took Ria somewhere in The Pale. Surprising, that. Skojr sending two newbloods off on their own."

"Edric isn't an ordinary newblood."

"Hm, so it would seem."

Farkas frowned slightly at the elf's tone but didn't rise to the bait. There was knowledge in the Dunmer's red eyes that didn't sit well with the Companion. Surely Edric hadn't told anyone else but Aela who he was. Athis might have figured it out though. The elf was a clever one. "He's a war veteran and an experienced spellsword," Farkas stated. "He'll keep Ria safe."

"Oh, I don't doubt that."

"So my brother… When did he get back?"

"15th, around dinner time. Came in looking like a dragon chewed him up and spat him out then he was trampled by a herd of mammoths." The elf picked up his mug of mead and took a sip then continued, "Ria fetched Skjor and Edric to help him, and they did so. Your paramour healed him then took one of the jobs he had stacked up. Heading out myself on one in the morning with Aela."

Farkas glowered. "He had contracts sitting around?" Athis nodded and shrugged. Farkas fumed a bit at that. It wasn't like Vilkas at all to sit on jobs that needed doing. He'd always been quite vocal about how the Companions were a guild, a business, and that the coin they fought for mattered every bit as much as their honor.

"Skjor took them and is getting them sorted out." Athis lowered his voice and went on, "Between you and me, I like having a firmer hand at the helm, you get my meaning? We're each our own man or woman, sure, but I want to know that when things go to shit that someone is going to deal with it."

"That's the Circle's job. The whole Circle." Farkas found the dark elf's concerns valid, but also a bit insulting. The Harbinger didn't run the Companions; the Circle did, as a whole.

"Yeah? And who deals with the Circle?" Athis shook his head and waved a hand. "Bah. Forget I said anything. Your brother seems sane, for now. I just want to know that if he starts losing it again that he'll be dealt with. Skjor says he's been under a lot of stress. Fine. What's he going to do when the old man dies? Things were quiet here until a year ago and then it all started going downhill. I don't like thinking that we haven't yet seen the bottom of that hill."

Farkas grumbled, not answering, and stood from his seat to head towards the two sparring warriors. Skjor saw him and held his hand up to Vilkas, halting their fight. Farkas didn't miss the look of dread in Vilkas' eyes as he approached, and it made him feel guilty all of a sudden. Maybe now wasn't a good time. Maybe Vilkas had seen for himself that he had acted like a lunatic. But then there was no telling how long this would last, and if he didn't talk to Vilkas now then it might never be a good time.

The Harbinger said, "Welcome back." Farkas nodded, pulling his gaze away from his brother. Skjor added, "Edric's on a job with Ria, Silverdrift Lair. Bandits have taken up residence in the outer part of the tomb. Hadring's paying us well to clean the place out. His inn gets little enough business as it is without bandits adding to it."

Farkas stated in an uneasy tone, "Edric said he wasn't going to take anyone with him on jobs. I mean, I'm glad he has back up, but there's, you know, his… _thing."_

"Thing?" Vilkas said with a raised eyebrow. His twin looked at him with suddenly narrowed eyes and Vilkas cleared his throat and nervously looked away.

"Yeah, his thing," Farkas said in annoyance. "That thing that you knew about this whole time and you still gave him shit. He cried, Vilkas. We went to Riverwood and he cried and cried." His brother swallowed, sinking in on himself with a miserable expression. Good, he should feel bad. It was a relief that he still could. Farkas looked at Skjor, who watched with a neutral expression, staying out of it. "So, was it Edric's idea to take her along?"

Skjor put the sword on his shoulder and said, "No, it was mine, but he wasn't too concerned about it. He trusts her, and if she's going to trust him she needs to know who and what he is. He has to start somewhere."

"I…guess so. We were going to tell her soon anyway."

"Why's that?"

"Edric wants to quit drinking, and I can't deal with it by myself. He said the last time he tried to quit he shouted his housecarl across the room while he was hallucinating. Thought he was a sabre cat." Skjor snorted at that, though he didn't smile. Well, it wasn't funny, so he shouldn't. The big warrior went on, "He didn't get any help for it, just thought he could tough it out, but that isn't gonna work. He's been drinking too much for too long. He's been trying to cut back and just that much has been making him shaky and grouchy. I told him I'm not…uh, marrying him unless he quits drinking." He kept his eyes on Skjor, but he detected the slight stiffening in his brother's stance.

"I don't blame you," Skjor said with utter seriousness. "No matter what he is, he keeps on the way he is and he's going to end up killing himself."

"He doesn't want that. Not anymore." He looked at Vilkas and his brother was glowering at the stone wall, looking like he wanted to put his hands over his ears and walk away. Too bad. He could listen to all this and deal with it. It was easier this way than confronting him. Maybe Skjor knew that too. "Anyway, we're going to talk to Arcadia when Edric gets back and see if she has any ideas. Some kind of potion or something to make it easier. And if he gets sick or has problems I need someone else to help me. He's, well, I think he might be a handful."

Skjor barked out a laugh. "You're just _now_ figuring that out?" Farkas grunted, his cheeks warming. The Harbinger clapped him on the shoulder and said, "Let the rest of us know if there's anything we can do. You don't have to do this on your own, even with Ria's help. And it would mean a lot to Kodlak."

"Well, this isn't happening until…after."

"Ah," he said quietly. "That may be for the best. Still, the offer stands."

"Thanks, I appreciate it." Farkas waited while the older man walked toward the porch, and once Skjor was ascending the steps he muttered to his brother, "He _cried,_ Vilkas."

The other twin muttered back, "I am certain he did."

"When you hurt him, it hurts me."

"And when I am hurt, what does it do to you?"

Farkas ran his fingers back through his hair, still wet from bathing, and said in embarrassment, "I lied, okay, I'm sorry. I should've…should've been honest about…not liking women all that much. I just, I figured it wouldn't ever matter. We'd never get cured and never have a chance at getting married anyway, so in the meantime I just…"

"Let me believe I had any kind of future. Right."

The cold tone to his brother's voice made Farkas' anger flare up, and he said intently, "That isn't my fault. You want a wife, you go get one. How the hell is it my problem that you can't figure out how to court someone?" Vilkas' expression turned furious as he slowly turned to glare at Farkas, who went on, "How did you think it was going to be, huh? I do all the work and you just reap the benefits? That isn't fair. If you can't woo a wife on your own you wouldn't be able to keep her happy either, but I suppose I'd be responsible for that too."

Vilkas growled, "Isn't that how it is now with your little pet? Holding his hand and wiping his snotty nose when he cries, buying him gifts, figuring out how to fix the consequences of his poor choices?"

Farkas stared at him in disbelief, so angry that he had moved beyond anger into something he couldn't quite define. He was so shocked by it and by Vilkas' words that it nearly jolted him out of it.

"You cosset him. You treat him like some precious little treasure that will break if you look at him wrong."

Fuming, Farkas spat, "Bull. Shit. That is complete bullshit, Vilkas. It's called being kind and considerate of the one you love, and you know what, he _is_ a precious treasure, and he can't help that he's little, and while I'm at it, he can't help that he sometimes walks or talks or waves his hands around a certain way, either!" He knew he was yelling, and he was pretty sure that Athis and Skjor were watching the whole thing from the porch, but it was hard to care. If they were going to have it out then they were going to have it out, right here and now.

Vilkas yelled back, "He's a man, and a man doesn't act like that! A warrior doesn't act like that!"

Farkas could tell the second the words left his brother's mouth that Vilkas realized who he sounded like. "Sure Pa," the Companion mumbled, bewildered. Vilkas' cheeks grew red as he swallowed, his eyes wild. Farkas found this so unsettling that he couldn't even stay angry. He quietly said, "So him being Dragonborn doesn't matter. Him being a Stormcloak general doesn't matter. Him being able to wipe the floor with you doesn't matter, 'cause sometimes he acts a little girly. 'Cause acting manly means everything, right? Even if it's just an act. Why isn't it braver to just be who he is and not give a shit what anyone thinks?" His twin stared through him, a bleak expression on his face, still flushed. The big warrior went on with less anger, "You know what, Edric does just as much for me as I do for him. He—"

"I don't want to know."

Farkas stared at him for a moment then tiredly said, "Yeah, I guess you don't." He shook his head and walked away, a deep ache in his chest. He didn't know how it had ever come to this, being shut out by the person he had shared an entire life with. He knew his brother's face better than anyone's, better than his own, as clichéd as that was, and yet he looked at Vilkas now and felt like he was talking to a stranger.

"So you don't even give a shit where I was," Vilkas called after him, "or what I was doing. None of that matters to you."

Farkas stopped, hearing the hurt anger in his brother's voice. He turned to look at him and Vilkas glared at him, his hands clenched around the training sword. "You know that isn't true," Farkas stated guiltily. His twin was trying to be cold and failing, his jaw clenched.

"Could have fooled me."

"You were the one who started getting nasty with me. What am I supposed to do, just stand there and take it? I don't know what the hell you want from me."

"I want you to use what few brains you have and tell Edric to not take the beastblood," Vilkas stated quietly. Farkas' eyes narrowed. He moved closer to his twin and continued, "He is going off to war unable to heal, and think on that would you, how a werewolf is supposed to manage on a battlefield. Perhaps that is how our idiot father met his end, by losing it and being cut down by his own comrades. If you encourage him to take the blood you would be cursing him." Farkas shook his head, and Vilkas insisted, "This is a curse that was set upon us! He's the Dragonborn and you would doom him to being some Daedra's pet dog? He is a hero and you would deny him a place in Sovngarde?"

When it was put like that it did sound pretty bad. But Farkas couldn't help smirking and saying, "So you think he's a hero, huh?" His twin made a growling sound of exasperation and swung the training sword at him, and Farkas laughed as he blocked it then caught Vilkas in a headlock, rubbing his knuckles on the top of the other man's head.

"Let me go! Bastard!"

Farkas laughed again, hearing Vilkas' voice wavering, telling him his brother was fighting not to laugh as well. He let go while the mood was still pleasant, if only for now. Vilkas combed his hair back with his fingers, shaking his head, his lips pursed, though his eyes were glinting. Farkas grabbed his shoulder and said, "Come on, let's go to the Bannered Mare and get plastered, just you and me."

"All right, all right. But you are buying."

He slung his arm around Vilkas' neck, and his brother sighed in forbearance and tolerated it. Farkas had had his say, and maybe it hadn't been the way he had planned, but it had gone better than he had feared it would. He didn't fool himself that everything would be rosy from here on out, but maybe now that everything was out in the open Vilkas would have less reason to lose control. Maybe. He would just have to pay more attention to his twin and try to head off Vilkas' moods before they got truly bad. It might not work, but it was better than doing nothing. He would have to ask Edric to tone it down as well. He couldn't ask Vilkas to be the only one to give.

** Farkas, 23rd of Frostfall, 4E205 **

Farkas jumped up from his seat at the end of the table at the sound of someone coming through Jorrvaskr's front door, and he felt a swell of relief to see Edric appear. His mate smiled at him, though it faded when he saw the look on Farkas' face. He held the door open for Ria and the girl came into the mead hall, looking a bit lost, maybe stunned. She looked at Edric, and he gripped her shoulder as he let the door swing shut. She stared at him for a moment then threw her arms around him, and he held her tightly then patted her back and let go.

Farkas went to greet them, settling for an embrace, still wary of being affectionate in front of their shield-siblings, even if it was just Ria. "I missed you, love," he whispered into the white and brown hair. He hadn't been able to help worrying about his beloved while Edric was gone, even if the Dragonborn was an old hand at cleaning out bandit lairs and draugr tombs. This time Edric had been responsible for another person, someone young and inexperienced, but the girl looked no worse for the wear, if a bit rattled. Farkas was actually a bit envious of her, because whatever she had seen seemed to have deeply affected her from the way she kept staring at Edric.

"You too, _miingi,"_ Edric whispered in return.

He kept his arm around the smaller man and smiled briefly in greeting to Ria, who nodded in return, her eyes still straying back to Edric. The Companion prompted, "So…"

"Yeah," she replied faintly. "Um, we…saw some things. I mean…I did. New, ah, things." Farkas snorted, and she shook her head and said in a slightly shaky voice, "He told me everything." He glanced down at his partner, and she stressed, _"Everything,_ Farkas. About his _parentage."_ She whispered the last word.

"Oh. Uh, I hadn't realized he was gonna—"

"It's kind of obvious, if you think about it."

"Well, in hindsight, sure, I guess—"

"I'll make sure to keep it to myself, but… Oh, we found a word wall, Farkas!" She turned her eyes back on Edric, who smiled at her, and she sighed and slowly shook her head in bemusement. _"Haal,"_ she sighed.

 _"Haal…_ what's that?"

"The second word of Disarm," Edric softly stated. "I still haven't found the third word, but it isn't something I've ever really used." He grinned at Ria and stated with approval, "She took the news better than Aela did, just like Skjor said." The girl grinned back with shining eyes.

Farkas nodded and smiled fleetingly. "That's great. I can't wait to hear all about it, but…"

Ria frowned up at him and asked, "What's wrong? Is something wrong?" She paused, though not long enough for the big warrior to answer. "It's not Vilkas is it?" she whispered in anxiety.

"The old man's had a turn for the worse." He looked down at Edric, whose expression crumpled as he stared past Ria. "Danica says it was a stroke. Uh…bleeding in his head. She was able to heal it when she got here, but by then some of the damage was already done. He can't move much of his right side. It's hard for him to eat and talk. That was three days ago." He heard his lover swallow hard as his eyes grew damp, and he gave him a gentle squeeze and said, "He said he wanted to see you as soon as you got in. He can still write, but even that's hard for him."

"Sure," Edric whispered. Ria moved close to him, hesitating before leaning in to kiss his cheek in sympathy, and he gave her a half-hearted smile. She gave him a pat on the shoulder then headed downstairs. Once she was gone Edric dropped his pack and turned into Farkas' chest.

"My poor sweetheart," the Companion murmured as he held him. This had to be hard to come home to. "Ahlam is staying here with him until…well, until. He's not supposed to be alone. Skjor's been spending a lot of time with him. Well, we all have. Vignar came in and sat with him for hours this morning, telling stories about the old days. Kodlak's heard them all before, but they seemed to make him happy."

"So…it's just a matter of waiting, then."

Farkas sadly stated, "Danica says he could have another one at any time. Or it might be a one-time thing. He's getting weak though. He has trouble swallowing and can only get soup down." Edric made a sound of grief. It was hard telling him all this, but Farkas would want to know if their places were switched. He petted his beloved's braid and continued to silently hold him, enjoying it for as long as he could. It was midday and anyone could come in at any time.

The door to the living quarters opened, and Farkas sighed and loosened his grip on Edric, who hitched his pack higher onto his shoulder and gazed up at him sadly. The big warrior tried to give him a reassuring smile, but even that small amount quickly faded when Vilkas came stomping up the stairs, an almost visible cloud of anger and grief swirling around him. His twin's eyes landed on Edric, and the smaller man lifted his chin and stared back coldly, his hand sliding into Farkas'. The action made Vilkas' eyes narrow.

"The old man is asking for you," Vilkas stated with resentment. "He heard Ria come back."

"I'll be down in a moment," Edric replied.

"You will go down now!"

Farkas felt Edric tense next to him, the grip growing almost painfully tight. "Please don't," the Companion whispered, pleading. "Don't make it worse." After a few seconds Edric grumbled and let go then briskly walked away, his shoulders hunched, angry, and he ignored Vilkas' glare as he passed the older man. Once the downstairs door slammed shut Farkas said to his twin in warning, "Lay off him." Of course it was too much to expect that the brief good behavior would last, now that Edric was back. And as usual, it wasn't his lover who had started it. Farkas had known that Vilkas would slip when Kodlak started to go, but he was starting to think that maybe he had been a bit naïve about how great the slip would be.

"Why should I? The old man is dying and the whelp drags his feet!"

"He just got home—"

"This is not his home," Vilkas hissed. "It is a place where he amuses himself until he goes to war, where he will die and leave you in unimaginable emotional agony."

Farkas slowly shook his head then headed for the stairs, muttering, "Just because you're in pain doesn't mean you should go hurting others. I thought things were going to be better, Vilkas."

"They cannot be better while he is here. The old man is in distress, asking for Edric, and what for? I am the one who has always been here, not him. I am the one who is like a son to him, or used to be." His twin didn't answer, and Vilkas shouted, "You don't get to ignore me!"

Farkas stopped at the top of the stairs and slowly turned to look at his brother. "Do you really want Kodlak to hear you yelling?" he quietly asked. Vilkas' rage faltered, and he went on, "Edric loves the old man, and Kodlak loves him back. That doesn't take away from you unless you make it that way. Go ahead and throw a big fucking fit once he's gone, but you'd damn well better keep it together until then." How he wished he could tell his brother the truth about the connection between Kodlak and Edric, to at least stop the accusations, but he had sworn he would keep it to himself. He understood the reasons for it, but he feared the reaction when Vilkas finally found out. Farkas just hoped that Skjor and Aela would be around to help contain him when that happened.

"Traitor," Vilkas threw back. "You're a damn traitor!"

Farkas ignored him and went downstairs, though the words stung all the same. They weren't true, not one bit, but it still hurt that Vilkas thought that. It was upsetting to see the brother he loved disappear so quickly and completely, the brother who had sat and drank with him so companionably only a few days ago. Farkas had truly believed it had made things better, but how real was that when the simple act of Edric coming home broke it all apart again?

He saw that Edric's pack and sword had been left in the doorway of the common quarters, his gauntlets thrown on top of the bag, and he picked it all up and slid it under the bed out of the way. There were a few other things stowed down there, but surprisingly little. Edric kept the ivory comb and mirror set here, still not over his fear of ruining it. Farkas knew that the Dragonborn had most of his belongings locked up in his houses in Markarth, Riften and Windhelm, along with secret caches of weapons and armor hidden away in every hold. It still baffled the Companion to think of it, and he was pretty sure he still didn't have the whole picture. He didn't think Edric was keeping any more secrets, in fact his mate had sworn up and down that he had told Farkas everything important. There was just so much to the younger man that Farkas hadn't had the chance yet to get into it.

When he went into Kodlak's room he found Edric sitting on the edge of the bed, holding Kodlak's still-useful left hand, his green eyes glistening with unshed tears. Ahlam sat in a chair in the far corner, knitting, and she smiled in greeting. She was a pretty woman, for all that meant to Farkas, but she never had remarried after her husband's unlamented death. She certainly had been happier the last few years since Nazeem was gone. Farkas couldn't imagine ever loving somebody enough to marry them then ending up resenting them so much that you didn't care when they died, but then he'd heard that Redguards sometimes married for reasons other than love. It just didn't make any sense. Nords often married impulsively, but always with the expectation that love would quickly follow, and it usually did.

"Dric…." Kodlak struggled to speak, the right side of his face drooping, and the young man huffed in grief and brought the old man's hand to his cheek.

 _"Bormah,"_ he whispered in reply.

Farkas sighed sadly, and Ahlam softly excused herself and left the room, closing the door behind her. The Companion moved to sit close behind Edric, trying to provide some comfort. _Bormah…_ he remembered his mate telling him that it meant 'father' in the dragon tongue, and that Edric had started calling Kodlak that in private after his initiation into the Companions. Farkas desperately hoped that one day Vilkas would be able to acknowledge the immense amount of happiness and comfort that Edric had given the old man at the end of his life.

"Wrrr," Kodlak forced out, taking his hand from Edric's to mimic writing.

"Write," Farkas said with a nod, turning around to fetch the slate and chalk from the table at the end of the bed. He handed it around Edric, putting the chalk in the former Harbinger's hand. He watched Kodlak write with painstaking slowness, as if having trouble forming the words in his own mind to put them down. Danica had said it happened sometimes. Kodlak was right-handed as well, so using his left hand made the process even more difficult.

Once he finished Kodlak showed the words to the younger man, who made a moaning sound in response. "I love you too, Father," Edric whimpered.

The Companion clucked his tongue in sorrow as he put his arms around his partner, and Edric clung to him, sniffing. Kodlak's silver eyes were bright with tears as well, but the old man wiped the slate with his palm and wrote again with determination. He wrote a bit longer this time, the effort seeming to exhaust him, and when he turned the slate around Farkas couldn't make any sense of it at all.

"Aye," Edric murmured, nodding. The old man wiped and wrote again, and when he showed it to Edric his expression was stern. The Dragonborn grunted, sounding wary, and when Kodlak wrote more Edric took a deep breath then stated firmly, "You have my word, _Bormahi."_ The old man let out a sigh of relief and gave his son a lopsided smile.

Farkas sat there trying not to feel left out and failing. He stayed silent, determined to be supportive even if he had not a clue what was going on as the other two men spent the next several minutes corresponding, Kodlak writing and Edric nodding and agreeing. It seemed grave, whatever the two of them were going over. It was hard not to feel that time was of the essence, the former Harbinger so obviously on death's door that it was no wonder Vilkas was having another episode. As much as Edric had come to care for his father, Vilkas had been right that he had been here all along, longer than Edric had been alive. It didn't give him the right to be an ass though.

Kodlak finally let the slate and chalk fall as he sank deeper into the pillows, and he wheezed, "Ria."

"I told her everything. Me, you, all of it," Edric stated. He took Kodlak's hand again. "I promised Farkas I would stop drinking," he murmured. Kodlak smiled as best he could and weakly squeezed his son's hand. "She said she would go to the alchemy shop tomorrow with me and Farkas to talk to her aunt. Arcadia, well, she isn't too fond of Stormcloaks." The old man snorted at that, nodding. "She promised to help Farkas with getting me dried out. Skjor and Aela said they would do what they could." He licked his lips then quietly added, "I think Athis suspects who I am. I could see it when I talked to him as I was leaving last week. I know he can be trusted, but…well, eventually." He glanced over his shoulder at Farkas, who gave him a small smile of reassurance. "I wish you could see us get married," he quietly said to Kodlak, who grunted in response with a small nod.

Farkas stated, "Not until Vilkas is cured." He trusted that Edric would quit drinking, as promised, but he wanted his brother to be well, because he couldn't see any other way Vilkas would agree to be at the wedding. And more importantly, be there and not cause trouble. Farkas didn't want to wait until Edric came back from the war to get married, but there still hadn't been any concrete sign of a cure. Vilkas said that Kodlak was certain of what it was and what needed to be done, but Vilkas hadn't seen fit to share, and Farkas hadn't bothered to ask, having little interest in it himself at this point.

Edric asked him, "And what do we do if Vilkas refuses to get cured, just to be a shit?"

"He wouldn't do that. He's been wanting the cure almost as long as Kodlak." Edric gazed at him a moment longer then arched an eyebrow and looked back to his father. Farkas frowned as Edric continued to talk to Kodlak, telling him about his trip with Ria and the new word of power he had learned. It was touching to see the pride shining from the old man, but it was hard to enjoy when there was this faint sense of doom lurking in the background, ever so gently touching everything with dirty fingers. It made Farkas guiltily wish that Kodlak's suffering would just end so they could get all the nastiness over with and deal with it head on. He couldn't help worrying that maybe Edric was right. Maybe Vilkas really would refuse, just to be a vicious asshole. It hurt to think it, remembering how comfortable everything had been only four days ago, sitting at the inn drinking companionably together, talking about safe things. Even the last few days Vilkas had been stressed but not spiteful, spending all his free time waiting on Kodlak, helping Ahlam tend to the old man. All it had taken was Kodlak asking for Edric and that fragile peace had been shattered.

Edric finally let out a quiet laugh as he read one final message. "You're right, I do stink," he said. "And you need your rest." He rose from the bed, Farkas rising with him, and the Companion put the slate and chalk away as Edric leaned over and placed a lingering kiss on Kodlak's forehead. "I love you, Father," he murmured, leaning his cheek against the old man's forehead. "Soon you'll be facing Tsun before the whalebone bridge, and when he asks by what right do you come before him, you will be able to proudly say, 'By right of glory, for I have led the Companions of Jorrvaskr.' And when you enter the Hall of Valor, Ysgramor will be there to greet you and lead you to your place at Shor's table. _Ol Zu'u los Dovahkiin ahrk hin kul,_ I will make this happen."

He helped settle the old man, Farkas going to the other side to help, and a painful lump grew in the Companion's throat when he saw the tears in Kodlak's eyes, but they seemed happy tears, as if the former Harbinger could already see the multi-colored skies of Sovngarde overhead. Edric had painted such a vivid picture of it when describing it to Farkas that it was hard not to long for such a place. Well, it wasn't as if Farkas had written it off entirely, but it was hard to feel any fear for the afterlife when it contained the things he enjoyed so much: running, hunting, feasting on fresh meat. If Edric didn't end up taking the beastblood then sure, he would seriously think about getting cured, but it didn't look like his beloved was going to refuse it. They both wanted the same thing, though they both understood there would be consequences from it. They would just have to deal with those consequences together.

They left the room, and Ahlam rose from her seat down the hall and returned, agreeing to Edric's request to call for him after Kodlak had rested so he could play the lute for him. Once she was gone Edric paused in the hallway, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand. He looked drained. Burdened. Whatever the old man had asked of him wasn't sitting well.

Farkas finally pushed through and said, "Seemed like Kodlak had a lot to say."

"Aye love, that he did." Farkas smiled at the endearment, and Edric reached up to stroke his cheek and suggested with a sly grin, "Join me in the bath?"

His smile broadened, and he happily followed his mate to get Edric some clean clothes then head for the bathing room, still warm and steamy from Ria's recent use. The tub wasn't quite big enough for two people, especially one Farkas' size, but that was fine, because it just meant they had to sit nice and close. It was something they hadn't done before, mindful of propriety, but when Edric smiled at him like that and they had been apart for a while it was hard not to say to Oblivion with propriety. He pulled the smaller man into his lap and washed him head to toe and Edric glowed under the attention. The two of them said little, simply touching and kissing, the mood so tender that it was hard to have a care in the world. At the moment the world was just this little room and this one adorable, lithe, irresistible green-eyed man.

Making love in the water was damn near impossible, but the foreplay in it was nice, reminding Farkas of that beautiful first trip together to the volcanic tundra and all the time they had spent fooling around in the pool. Once they were out of the water it was quick work to finish the job, both of them well aware that this was not a private room and a knock on the door could come at any moment.

Dried, dressed and sated, they made their way to Farkas' room, seeing Vilkas' door open and hearing only silence inside. As Farkas closed his own door Edric went to the bar, seeing a roughed-out carving there. "You're making something new?" he asked, sounding pleased. He carried the hawk with him everywhere in his pack, something that warmed Farkas' heart.

"Yeah, I'm trying a mammoth this time," the Companion answered. "I was thinking about asking the Khajiit to carve some tusks for it, once I'm done."

"Ah, that sounds interesting," Edric said sincerely. He turned away and climbed onto the bed, and Farkas got on next to him, sliding close.

"I was going to make a set of toy animals while you're, uh, away. At war. For when we're able to adopt a little one." He had to cling to the hope that Edric would come back. He wasn't going to let Vilkas shake his belief in that.

"Ah, Farkas," he sighed wistfully, leaning against him. "I'd like that. A little girl, maybe? I don't have a preference, but Mum would love a granddaughter." Farkas made a sound of assent. "Once…well, after all this mess is cleared up, I'll take you to meet her." Another sound of agreement. "So, Kodlak. You've been patient."

Farkas laughed and said, "I was distracted by something wet and handsome."

"Yeah, me too. And I'm definitely still wet." Edric made a sound of annoyance and sat up, lighting up his hands in harmless flames then running them over his damp hair. The other man flinched back, his eyes wide, and the Dragonborn murmured, "We need to get out and do some jobs together, _miingi."_

"Uh…yeah. That might be a good idea." Seeing Edric do magic up close was incredibly startling, and frankly he didn't know how he could ever really get used to it, but he had to at least try. "How uh, how is that not burning your hair?" Farkas could feel the warmth, but there wasn't the kind of heat he'd expected, and no sound from it.

"It isn't burning my hands, is it?"

"Well, no…"

Edric held his hands out in front of him. "Here, touch my hands. It's safe, I promise." Farkas hesitated, the fear in his eyes obvious. "When I was in Solstheim…all those Black Books I read, the ones I told you about a little bit? One of them granted me...hm. An ability. A boon, I suppose. It renders destructive spells and shouts harmless to companions."

Farkas' dark brows rose in disbelief. "Just the Companions? What good is that?"

"Oh. Oh no no," Edric laughed. "I'm sorry love, I meant allies." Farkas grumbled, his cheeks pink, and the Dragonborn clucked his tongue and let the magic fizzle out. He pulled his damp hair out and twisted it into a bun to keep it off his back and neck and explained, "All right then, Kodlak. He wants me to stay out of the Silver Hand business, and I promised I would. He feels strongly that helping Aela and Skjor hunt them will end in tragedy. His 'bad feelings' put mine to shame, so if he feels it's a bad idea then it is. Unfortunately I don't think anything is going to stop the other two. They've only held back as much as they have out of respect for Kodlak. Once he's gone all Oblivion is going to break loose, I guarantee."

Farkas shivered in dread, the hairs on his arms rising. He could see that happening. There were too many secrets between Aela and Skjor, too many odd looks, too much time spent away from Jorrvaskr at the same time, though that had lessened drastically as Kodlak's deterioration worsened. He could very well see Skjor deciding as Harbinger to deal with the Silver Hand threat once and for all, and who better to help in that than the Dragonborn? He couldn't be sorry that Kodlak had gotten Edric to promise to stay out of it.

"He didn't ask me to not take the blood. He's explained the downsides of it plenty in the past, so he wasn't going to waste time going over it again. To be honest I don't particularly like the idea of basically selling my soul to a Daedric Prince. I came much too close to doing that with the whole Miraak business. Even if I wore Daedric armor for a time, I've refused every Daedric artifact I've been given by the Princes, or given it back once I was done with it. How do you return knowledge and power, though? You can't."

"Edie honey, you're scaring the shit out of me," Farkas whispered.

"No worries, I had that pretentious prick Neloth…" Edric trailed off, blinking, then murmured, "What? Edie? Is that what you called me?"

Blushing, Farkas mumbled, "It uh, well, it kind of…slipped out by mistake— Hey!" He cried out in surprise as the smaller man tackled him sideways, knocking him onto the bed. He found himself being manhandled onto his back and couldn't help laughing at the absurdity of the situation and the sweetly evil grin on Edric's lovely face. He put up enough of a struggle to make it fun but eventually gave up and found himself straddled, pinned down by his wrists. "Okay, you've got me," he said in good-natured surrender.

"Oh, I know that, my love."

The soft tone went straight to Farkas' groin, though the warm body on top of him might have been the bigger part of the reason. Edric's hair had come loose and spilled over his shoulder, pooling next to the Companion's head, smelling like juniper berry oil, sharp and fresh and pleasant. His grin softened as he leaned down and lightly touched his nose to Farkas'.

"Say it again," Edric gently demanded.

"Edie," he whispered, and the other man let out a warm sigh. "My beautiful Edie." Edric smiled at him but there was a touch of pain in it. He let go of Farkas' wrists to lay on his shoulder, and Farkas put his arms around his beloved and held him. There was slight tension there, but it eventually melted bit by bit. "You shouldn't take the blood if it worries you," Farkas eventually murmured.

"It does, a little," Edric admitted.

"Then don't do it. It would be selfish of me to want it if it worries you."

"I've done plenty of things that worried me more than this. Jumping into a portal to Sovngarde topping that list. What's a little howling at the moon for a few years? I'll see where it goes and after a while we'll get cured if we want." He yawned widely. "No problem."

Farkas snorted in disbelief. "Just like that?"

"Oh yes, just like that. After dealing with the Prince of Secrets, I think I can handle the Prince of the Hunt," he said sleepily. "I've already dealt with him once."

Farkas grimaced, not at all liking the flippant way his partner was treating the issue. Sure, he was Dragonborn and all that, but how many times did he think he could cheat fate and win? Edric said nothing more, and as Farkas lightly rubbed his back his breathing evened out then deepened. It wasn't the most comfortable position, but not unbearable, and Farkas had to admit it was really touching that his lover felt so at ease with him that he had fallen asleep right on top of him. It was warm and Edric smelled good, and that little interlude in the bathing room had been nice, so it wasn't long at all before Farkas found himself nodding off as well.

It was right before completely falling asleep that he vaguely realized that Edric probably hadn't told him everything he had promised Kodlak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Dovahzul translations:**  
>  _Bormah_ \- Father  
>  _Bormahi_ \- My father  
>  _Ol Zu'u los Dovahkiin ahrk hin kul_ \- As I am Dragonborn and your son
> 
> I'm one of those cheesy people who feel a compulsive need to mentally attach songs to their stories (not that I find it cheesy in others, just myself). I've always thought that Edie would be a cute nickname for Edric, and to get myself in the mood to work on this story I often listen to Edie by The Cult (okay, I listen to it obsessively at times for this story). This song was actually the inspiration for making Edric related to Kodlak, something I hadn't considered until I actually started writing it; the line 'stars wrapped in your hair' made me think it would be interesting to have white in his hair, and it just kind of went from there.
> 
> Thanks very much for reading, and sorry this update took a while.


	24. Chapter 24

** Vilkas, 29th of Frostfall, 4E205 **

Vilkas tried not to snarl as the Harbinger took his leave without a backward glance, heading downstairs. He was well aware of Njada and Ria at the table, and from the way they were casually eating and the sound of Tilma humming in the kitchen it seemed nothing had happened while they were away. He had been deeply reluctant to leave Jorrvaskr with Kodlak barely waking these days, refusing food; he had feared that the old man would pass while he and Skjor were gone, but the Harbinger had insisted Vilkas go with him to clean out Halted Stream Mine, a job that took a full day and had required them to sleep in the camp overnight once the mammoth poachers had been dealt with. It had been a lucrative contract, the two men weighed down with loot and valuable ivory, which Vignar had considered part of their pay, but that didn’t make up for being away from home when a loved one was dying.

What grated most was that Vilkas knew damn well that Skjor had made him go because of Edric. The younger man was constantly about, refusing to take any further jobs while Kodlak slipped away, always in the old man’s room either holding his hand or playing the lute for him, that spicy smell always permeating the air along with the reek of death and hints of liquor. Vilkas could tell Edric was drinking more heavily again, when it seemed he had been cutting back for a while. The man’s weakness in that regard was pitiful. He and Vilkas had nearly come to blows a few times outside Kodlak’s quarters when neither of them would leave and give way to the other, and only the thought of the old man hearing the altercation had kept it from happening, not even Farkas’ presence any kind of buffer anymore.

He tiredly made his way downstairs, and he saw Skjor talking to Ahlam in the sitting room. The Harbinger raised his hand to Vilkas, letting him know nothing had changed, and the Companion nodded and went to his room, eager to get a hot bath before Skjor claimed it. Farkas’ door was closed, soft murmurs coming from within, and Vilkas sneered at it and went into his quarters to dump his pack and weapons and strip off his armor. “Oh no, that’s all right, I can do it myself,” he muttered to himself. “Don’t trouble yourself on my account, brother. You’re too kind, really. Bah.” He felt his shoulders tensing up and the ring on his finger suddenly itched. Six months. He had been holding on for six months now, resisting the change, and at times like this it was hard to remember why he bothered. The cure was within his grasp, in fact he knew exactly what the cure was, but Kodlak had withheld the location of the witches, refusing to tell Vilkas, flat out stating that he didn’t trust him with that knowledge. Well, he had better have it written down somewhere or told someone.

Vilkas sputtered in derision; of course Kodlak had told someone. And Vilkas knew exactly who that someone was.

His armor was neatly put away on its stand, none of the dings or scratches meriting Eorlund’s attention, and he got out clean clothes and headed for the bathing room. He paused outside his twin’s door at the muffled thud of something hitting the stone wall next to it, and he felt a surge of fury at the sound of a smothered moan, high-pitched and almost womanish, then the sound of Farkas’ shushing and the rhythmic creaking of the bed.

He shuddered and quickly walked away, feeling hot all over, so pissed off he could hardly see straight. No way in Oblivion he was going to tolerate that. No goddamn way. Kodlak was dying right down the hall, in fact right on the other side of Farkas’ room, and they were in there rutting like a couple of animals and making a pathetically inadequate attempt to be quiet. It was obvious from the sounds exactly what was going on in there. It was one thing to fool around, another entirely for Farkas to be fucking Edric under Jorrvaskr’s roof. It was so inappropriate there weren’t even words for it. He could only be glad that in his current incoherent state Kodlak wasn’t aware of what they were doing at the moment.

Seething, Vilkas went into the bathing room and took his sweet time, determined to stay in there until he was as wrinkled as an old apple, hoping the affront to his sensibilities would be over by time he got out. At least this way he would get the stench of mammoth musk soaked out of his hair.

Eventually a pounding came on the door and Skjor called, “You still alive in there?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m getting out,” he called back, feeling too lazy at this point to hold onto his anger. He drained the tub and got out, cleaning up the room then dressing. As Vilkas came out he saw Skjor leaning against the wall, waiting impatiently with his arms folded. He met the Harbinger’s single eye and the older man raised an eyebrow at him.

“I thought maybe you’d fallen asleep and drowned.”

“No such luck.”

Skjor rolled his eye and went past him, shutting the door, and Vilkas made his way back to his room barefoot, gritting his teeth and praying to the Nine that Farkas and his little darling had finished. He steeled himself and rounded the corner, and he stopped short in shock at the sight that greeted him.

The door was halfway open, and there on the bed as naked as the day he was born was Edric, sitting with his back to the doorway. He propped the lute in his lap then he began plucking the strings to tune it. His hair cascaded down his back in ripples of honey brown and white, the ends of it drifting back and forth right above the cleft of his backside, barely visible above the bunched blankets around him. The smell of sex drifted out of the room mixed with cinnamon. Where his left shoulder joined his neck there was the faint red mark of a love bite.

Vilkas blinked against a wave of lust so strong it felt as if he had been stabbed. The muscles moved under the Dragonborn’s pale skin as he began playing the instrument, across broad shoulders and well-defined arms. Vilkas had heard him play often enough over the last week to grudgingly acknowledge his talent, had even heard Farkas play simple tunes a few times, surprisingly enough. He heard a soft hum, that same sweet voice that had been moaning half an hour ago.

“What’re you doing?”

The angry whisper behind him startled him so badly he nearly dropped the armful of dirty clothing, and when Edric’s back stiffened and he slowly turned to look over his shoulder the Companion couldn’t help the whine of longing that slipped out of his throat. He couldn’t look away, even when Edric’s eyes narrowed coldly, then he heard a furious, possessive growl behind him that forced him away and into his room, then the sound of a tray being slammed down on the table outside.

He elbowed the door shut but Farkas pushed his way into the room, snarling, “I asked you what the fuck you were doing!”

Vilkas threw the clothes on the ground and turned to look at his brother, whose silver eyes were dilated and his teeth bared. “Share,” he demanded, his voice shaking.

Farkas’ eyes widened in disbelief as he exclaimed, “Are you insane? Fuck no!”

“I…I want you to share,” he insisted. "We're supposed to share everything." Gods, it was just like that dream he’d had outside Dustman’s Cairn. Almost exactly like it, going in the same exact direction, and he felt just as helpless as he had then, carried along by something he couldn’t fully control. The words were coming out of his mouth as if of their own volition, and he meant them at the moment, even if they were completely mad. There was no way Farkas would agree to such a thing. There was no way Edric would agree to it. Vilkas didn’t even _want_ to be with Edric. The moment that smart mouth opened without something in it to keep him from talking Vilkas would regret the whole arrangement. But by Dibella the man was a thing of beauty to look upon. It was physically painful to know he was never going to get the chance to fully experience that loveliness.

“He isn’t a fucking piece of pie!” his twin bellowed. He shook his head, bewildered and infuriated as he went on, “What were you going to do, huh? What were you about to do?”

“I didn’t do anything! I was just standing there!” Vilkas made a sound of hurt as he went on heatedly, “Maybe you should try closing your fucking door, and while you’re at it, stick a gag in his mouth when you’re rutting and fix your squeaky bed!” He heard a sound of mortification from across the hall. Well Edric should be embarrassed. He and Farkas both should be, but Farkas was too angry to be properly shamed by all this. Vilkas pointed his finger at him and stated, “This is _exactly_ why we do not have relationships between Companions! It causes nothing but problems!”

“You’re the only one with the problem!”

“Farkas honey...”

The sound of Edric’s voice just outside the door made Vilkas shout, “You stay out of this! This is between me and him!” The Dragonborn came into the room just enough to grab Farkas’ arm, but the bigger man shook him off with a growl. Edric took a deep breath and his eyes moved past his lover to Vilkas, and their eyes met for a moment then the other man’s expression went blank. He’d had the decency to pull on a pair of pants and a shirt, but it hardly mattered, the images already burned into Vilkas’ brain. The Companion felt his face flush as he demanded of both of them, “Get out. This never should have happened. I will not be blamed for this.”

Farkas said through gritted teeth, “You’d damn well better not suggest that ever again. Never.”

 _“Miingi,”_ Edric murmured, tugging on Farkas’ arm again, and the other man shook him off, again. Edric’s expression hardened and he demanded, “Let it go, Farkas.”

“Why should I? You heard what he wanted, like you’re some…some _thing_ that can be passed back and forth like a bottle of mead!”

“He didn’t mean—” He drew back as Farkas turned on him.

“He did too mean it, and you damn well know it,” Farkas growled. Edric’s gaze lowered then shifted away. “Yeah, I thought so.”

The Dragonborn muttered, “Well he’s right. We should’ve been more discreet, and we should’ve closed the door.”

“That’s beside the point!”

“Actually, no, it isn’t.” Edric raised his eyes to Farkas’ and added, “No harm was done, love. Really.”

“Bullshit there was no harm. He saw you. He heard you. He _knows_ now.”

Vilkas grumbled in humiliation, knowing exactly what his twin was getting at. Yes, he did know now exactly what Farkas had, and it was going to plague him. He now had a very clear mental image to go with the noises he had heard, something that he knew with despair was going to fuel all too many late-night moments alone.

“If he does, it’s our fault,” Edric stated. His brow furrowed and he asked in concern, “When was the last time you hunted, anyway?”

Farkas bristled and yelled, “That has jack shit to do with this, Edric!”

The Dragonborn’s expression cooled, and he stared at his partner for a moment with pursed lips then primly stated, “You can come find me when you’re ready to behave,” then turned on his heel and walked away, throwing his hair over his shoulder with a twitch of his head.

The big man watched his lover leave then slowly turned to look at Vilkas, fuming. “This is your fault,” Farkas growled. “Edie’s mad at _me_ now, when this is _your_ fault.”

“Edie?” Vilkas said in distaste, his nose wrinkled. It was wrinkling out of more than distaste however, the pungent smell of riled male wolf thick in the air, and it made Vilkas realize that Edric had probably been quite right that Farkas was overdue to hunt, something that was contributing to his anger, and had probably prompted that bite on Edric’s shoulder. Strange that the younger man knew the signs so well after less than a month together, but then the Dragonborn was nothing if not observant.

“If I ever find out you’ve put hands on him that way, I’ll break your arm.”

Vilkas sneered, “Spare me. He would break my arm himself if it came to it. He does not need you to protect him when he could put you and me both through the wall without breaking a sweat.” He supposed it was a relief however to hear that Farkas didn’t know about Vilkas’ little indiscretions during Edric’s Trial. He could only hope Farkas never found out.

“It isn’t about protection.”

“No, it’s about possession. Perhaps you should try pissing all over him to mark your territory more clearly.” He felt a zinging thrill of fear and cursed his big mouth when Farkas let out a long, low, rumbling growl and his eyes started to turn yellow. Vilkas did the only thing he could do and squeezed his eyes shut and lowered his head, turning it to the side in submission, and after a few moments his brother huffed and left the room, going to his own and slamming the door shut.

Vilkas shuddered and hurried to close his own, sliding the bolt to lock it. “Fucking mess,” he whispered brokenly. He leaned his forehead against the door and willed his pulse to slow down, hearing his twin snarl and kick the bed, making it slam against the wall. He had never been quite as afraid of his brother as he was right now. Farkas had always been so mellow for the most part, a man of few words, slow to anger, and ever since Edric’s arrival that had started to change. Vilkas tiredly admitted to himself that it wasn’t Edric’s fault, either. None of what had happened in the last year was, if the truth was to be told. Edric hadn’t given Kodlak the rot. Edric hadn’t had any ulterior motive in telling Kodlak about Sovngarde. Kodlak was the one who had asked Edric to come here. And Farkas couldn’t help falling in love with Edric. Not when Vilkas couldn’t tolerate the Dragonborn and yet just now had stood there gaping at him like a fool, entranced by pretty hair and a sweet voice. And that intoxicating smell. If he had no other reason to take the cure, getting rid of his ability to detect that scent was reason enough.

“Gods, what a mess,” he muttered as he turned away to throw himself on his bed. He put his arm over his eyes and suddenly felt like weeping, feeling utterly hopeless. He could see everything all too clearly at the moment, tumbling and sliding towards disaster a bit at a time. He had to wonder if anyone else saw it the way he did. Skjor and Aela assuredly didn’t. Farkas was too focused on Edric. _Edie,_ he thought with a shake of his head. When had that started? Kodlak was too focused on Sovngarde, if he was focused on anything at all at this point. Who knew what the whelps thought or how much of the Circle’s sordid business they were aware of.

And Edric? He had found himself in worse messes than this and come out of it. If he saw all that was wrong here maybe he wasn’t worried enough to do more than shrug and hold on for the ride. For a moment Vilkas was tempted to go after Edric himself, sit him down and try to hold onto his own temper and shaky sanity long enough to ask his honest opinion about everything. There were layers upon layers to the man, and even if Farkas swore that his lover was always honest with him, that didn’t mean Edric told him everything, because like it or not the two weren’t exactly playing on a level field, no matter how much love was there. And like it or not, Vilkas knew with a dreary certainty that he and the Dragonborn were more than evenly matched intellectually, and frankly Vilkas’ temperament even when he wasn’t having issues gave Edric quite the edge.

The sound of Farkas throwing his door open stopped Vilkas from going anywhere. He couldn’t imagine the scene it would cause if his brother found him talking to Edric alone right now. No, that would be the worst possible thing right now. Vilkas liked his body in one piece. He was going to have his say though. He was going to ask Edric exactly what he thought he was going to accomplish by cursing himself with the beastblood, and what Kodlak had told him about the cure, and the witches, and just how in Oblivion he planned on coping during the war. He wanted to know that Edric was taking all this seriously and that someone in this hall with a full set of brains was going to keep a handle on things, because Vilkas was quite aware at this point that that person was not him and that it was only a matter of time before he flew off the handle again. With Kodlak nearly dead there wasn’t a single member of the Circle that completely had their shit together: Skjor and Aela were obsessed with the Silver Hand, Farkas was only slightly more intelligent than a draugr, and Vilkas’ mental state was undependable. As aggravating as the thought was, Edric might be the only person in the hall that could fully be relied upon.

** Farkas, 29th of Frostfall, 4E205 **

Farkas huffed to himself in weary frustration as he sat back down on the bench, after making yet another circuit of the baby Gildergreen. It had grown nearly a foot in the three weeks since they had brought it back and was still flowering happily, perfuming the plaza with its spicy floral scent. He resisted the urge to go back into the temple, Jenssen making it clear that the Companion was being a pest. Edric had been kneeling at the center of the room, his back to the door, completely unaware of anyone or anything as far as Farkas could tell, but how many hours could someone stay kneeling? His mate had explained that when he was in that state that he wasn’t really aware of any discomfort, his thoughts only on Kynareth and ‘her mysteries’, whatever that meant. Something mysterious, he supposed.

He sighed heavily and leaned his forearms on his knees as he looked at his hands. He felt like an ass. They would have had some kind of lover’s spat eventually, but it shouldn’t have come over something like this, and it was embarrassing that Farkas was the one who had blown everything to Oblivion. Usually that was Vilkas, though Vilkas had been the catalyst for it. The thought of his brother standing there staring at Edric with glazed eyes and a lustful expression was horrible. It had never crossed his mind that Vilkas wanted Edric, not beyond a general attraction that frankly Farkas thought was to be expected. He found Edric so irresistible that he expected almost everyone else to at least think the other man was attractive, but the look on Vilkas’ face had been more than that. And his demand that Farkas share! It was so shocking that he couldn’t even get angry about it now.

No, they shouldn’t have been doing that where someone could hear, probably Vilkas, who had been due to return that day, and no, they shouldn’t have been doing it on a bed that was on its last legs and much too small for the two of them anyway, and yes, Farkas should have closed the door on his way out to get them something to eat and drink, knowing Edric was sitting naked in his bed, and yes, Edric should have closed it himself when Farkas had forgotten to in his half-awake after-sex fog. The air had smelled like Edric and sex, and he had been sitting there looking so pretty, playing the lute and humming with not a stitch on. Even a perfectly straight man might have stopped for a second glance upon seeing that, and Vilkas was not perfectly straight, no matter how he had limited himself the last ten years. Well, Vilkas was probably so embarrassed over his demand that he would never bring it up again, and gods knew Farkas wasn’t going to. Some things were better left ignored. Forever.

He was so lost in thought that it wasn’t until he felt a weight next to him on the bench that he realized Edric had come out of the temple. He bit his lip and looked down at his beloved, who stared forward for a moment then sighed and glanced up at him. “I’m sorry,” Farkas quickly whispered.

“Ah love, it wasn’t your fault,” Edric murmured. “I suppose it wasn’t anyone’s.”

“I made it worse.”

“Because you need to hunt.”

“I know. I will tonight, but…” He made an unhappy sound and hesitantly reached for Edric’s hand, and the other man clucked his tongue and slid close to him, leaning against his shoulder as their fingers interlaced. “I love you,” Farkas stated in a sullen tone. “More than anything.” In hindsight his behavior was horrifying, acting like some overbearing husband who caught the neighbor spying on his wife. Edric could fight his own battles, and Vilkas hadn’t deserved being snarled at.

“And I love you every bit as much, Farkas. I really do.”

“I never should’ve yelled at you like that. Yelled at you at all.”

Edric laughed quietly. “Oh, I think I can handle you yelling at me, _miingi._ Vilkas was more afraid of you than I could ever be.”

Horrified, Farkas said, “Shit, I hope you’re never afraid of me. I couldn’t take it if you were. I’d feel like a monster.” He didn’t particularly like the idea of his brother being scared of him either. It was just altogether wrong that Vilkas had been driven to bare his throat to him, something neither of them had done since they were young newborn werewolves being disciplined by their elders.

“Hold me!” Edric cried, and Farkas laughed and let go of his hand to put his arms around him. The Dragonborn leaned up and kissed the bigger man’s neck then snuggled against him. “No more fucking in your room,” he said with regret.

“Nope.” They would have to keep such things out of Jorrvaskr until Edric had Skjor’s room, something Farkas wasn’t about to bring up again. For that to happen Kodlak would have to pass away, and that could come any day now.

“I feel bad, seeing as how I kind of started it.”

Farkas couldn’t help chuckling. “It’s true. You did.” His mate had been parading around Farkas’ room nude then kept ‘accidentally’ dropping things and picking them up in front of Farkas. A man could only take so much of that without doing something about it. And so he had, and by Dibella it had been every bit as good as the first time he had taken him, if dirtier for being spur of the moment and bending Edric over. The thing was, Edric had had his face buried in the pillow, so they had been as quiet as possible, but his beloved was a moaner, something Farkas didn’t mind one bit. The lovemaking had provided a much-needed distraction from Edric’s grief, a break from his constant attendance on Kodlak. But for now they would have to keep to other, quieter things. Things that didn’t shake the bed and force such tantalizing sounds out of his man.

Edric smirked and murmured, “Well well, someone is having dirty thoughts.”

“It _was_ really good,” Farkas admitted in a wistful tone.

“It was, wasn’t it,” he replied with a warm laugh. “That bed of yours though… I swear I heard one of the boards give way a little bit. When you threatened to fuck me into the bed you really meant it. All the way into and through it.”

His face warming, Farkas couldn’t help laughing, though the conversation seemed a bit inappropriate right by the Gildergreen and the temple. “That bed’s older than Kodlak,” he said with a grin. “Maybe even older than Vignar.” His smile faded as he caught sight of the red mark on the younger man’s neck, peeking out from the collar of the tunic. He lightly traced it with a finger, frowning. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he muttered. He should have controlled his beast better, should have known better than to not only take Edric when a hunt was overdue but to do it in a manner that was guaranteed to get his blood howling.

“Eh, it’ll be gone by morning,” his mate said without concern. “It’s not as if you hurt me.”

“What if someone sees it?” he asked with sudden worry. Maybe the priest and priestess had. Danica knew the Circle’s secret, but she would not approve one bit of such behavior.

Edric shrugged. “What if? They’ll mind their own damn business if they know what’s good for them.”

“I don’t want anyone to know I did that to you,” he persisted. “I hate that I did it, and I hate even more the thought that someone’s gonna see it and think I’m mean to you, or...or that we have something weird going on.” Edric snorted a laugh, and Farkas sighed and gave up, feeling himself growing restless and determined to put a stop to it before he got irritated again.

“Weird,” Edric chuckled. “We _do_ have something weird going on, dear heart. It's weird just by virtue of what we are, and it’s only going to get weirder. But it’s our weird, and anyone who has a problem with it is going to get a fist in their face.”

Farkas grumbled and tried to let it go. He was really going to have to stop putting off his hunts like this. He supposed before too much longer though he wouldn’t have a reason to. He might have only a few more left on his own before Edric could join him, for real. With any luck they could get his drinking problem squared away before then.

Arcadia had _not_ been happy when Ria had taken them to talk to his aunt and she had found out who Edric really was. The Dragonborn had gotten treated to a passionate five minute lecture about Stormcloaks, the Empire, Nord racism, and so on, and so on, at the end of which Edric had asked why she didn’t return to Cyrodiil if things were so awful up here, which had gotten him a shrieked protest of “Twenty years I’ve lived in Skyrim, you little shit! _Twenty!”_ that had left both Ria and Farkas gaping at the alchemist in shock. Edric had accepted it calmly, and then had proceeded to tell her about the derogatory treatment he and the other Nord Legionnaires had put up with from the Colovians and Nibenese while putting their lives on the line defending the Empire. He had finished up with a final comment that she still seemed to be doing rather well for herself, as did all the other merchants in town who were entirely non-Nord except for Fralia Gray-Mane.

It had gone back and forth like that for a good twenty minutes altogether with the other two Companions standing there silently, afraid to get in the middle, though by the end of it Farkas finally figured out where Ria got her feistiness from. Arcadia had finally agreed to help as long as Edric assisted her in return by gathering some rare ingredients for her from Hjaalmarch, which had resulted in the young man looking like he had just swallowed something really nasty-tasting. Farkas couldn’t blame him; the marshlands were lousy with frostbite spiders and chaurus, and it was impossible to pass through most of it without ruining your boots. The capital of Morthal could barely be called a village, and frankly Farkas wondered why the hold even needed a Jarl. He and the other Companions had spent more than enough time there while dealing with the vampire problem. He wasn’t sure if the vampires or the spiders were worse. You could wipe out the vampires at least, but there were always more frostbite spiders. Always.

“Look at the goose bumps on your arms,” Edric chided. “How long have you been sitting out here waiting for me?”

“Uh, I don’t know, a few hours I guess.”

His partner took his hand then stood and pulled him to his feet, and as always Farkas had to briefly marvel at how strong the smaller man was. Vilkas had been right about one thing: Edric didn’t really need protecting from anyone. The Companion couldn’t help feeling protective though. It was natural to be defensive of the one you loved, and possessive too he supposed, though he knew he had gone overboard tonight. Well he would get it out of his system with a hunt, though maybe on the other side of Whiterun this time to mix things up a bit. It might be his last night out as a wolf before Kodlak passed away, and there would be days of funerary rituals after that to get through, maybe up to a week of them depending on how complicated Vignar planned on making things, since the Jarl had taken it upon himself to organize everything. It wasn’t every day that a Harbinger died.

As they walked back to Jorrvaskr hand in hand, Farkas said in sudden realization, “I forgot to ask…just what did you and Kodlak talk about last week? With the writing and everything?”

“Oh, well, what I said: I’m going to stay out of the Silver Hand business.”

Farkas eyed him sideways. “And that was it?”

“No, of course not, _miingi._ It’s just that he asked me to keep some things to myself. Contingency plans, in case everything goes to Oblivion.” Edric shrugged. “And it just might. One can always hope that it doesn’t, but best to assume it will.”

Dismayed, Farkas mumbled, “But…”

“Skjor and Aela have been harassing the Silver Hand, wherever they find them. _Challenging_ them. They’ve been doing it for a good year and a half now. If they had been simply wiping out their camps we might not have these issues, but instead they’ve been picking off members here and there, riling them up without really putting a dent in their numbers. The few camps I cleared obviously didn’t set them back far.” Edric sighed with regret. “It’s too bad, really. I respect Skjor a great deal, and I’m fond of Aela, like a gruff uncle and a tough big sister. I don’t want to see them or the Companions come to harm, but if they won’t listen to Kodlak, why would they listen to me?”

“Because you’re the…um, guy.”

“Aye, but even if they know that I am they don’t really see me that way, and besides, I’m not in the business of saving people from themselves. Other things, sure, but not themselves.” He sighed again, more heavily this time. “This wasn’t exactly a promise I wanted to make, love. I remember all too well the night I found you. The hunters would do it again if given the chance, and I really had fully intended to help Aela and Skjor wipe them out. The old man did say that if it comes to them attacking Jorrvaskr then all bets are off, but let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” He clucked his tongue and shook his head as they mounted the steps to the mead hall. “I’d hoped joining the Companions would be more restful than this,” he stated with a touch of annoyance. “Fetch a few heirlooms, kill some outlaws, spend the rest of the time with my feet up and a bottle in my hand. Why do things never pan out the way I hoped they would?”

“Probably because you’re the…”

“The guy, yes.” He suddenly grinned at Farkas then lifted his hand to kiss it. “There’s one good thing that came out of it, at least.”

Farkas nodded, trying to smile as Edric leaned up and kissed him on Jorrvaskr’s doorstep, feeling his beloved’s hand shaking with the need for a drink. Yes, what they had was a good thing. He was glad the Dragonborn was here, glad that there was at least one person in the hall fully capable of doing whatever it took to keep everything together, since it seemed Skjor wasn’t willing to give up his vendetta. And what if something happened to Skjor after Kodlak died? Who would be Harbinger then? Aela didn’t want the responsibility, Vilkas didn’t have the temperament, and Farkas didn’t have the brains. That would only leave…

As they went inside the hall Farkas felt a twinge of worry that Kodlak might have put that on his son as well during that chalkboard talk of theirs. But who else was there? There really was nobody else. Farkas trusted his beloved to cope with pretty much anything, but Edric was going away to war in the spring, maybe for years, and what would the Companions do then?

He shoved the thoughts away as Edric let go of his hand and immediately went for the nearest bottle of ale. One thing at a time. That was all they could do: handle one thing at a time, like anybody else did.

** Vilkas, 30th of Frostfall, 4E205 **

Njada left the whelps’ quarters, the last one to wake for the day, and as she passed through the doors to the upstairs Vilkas rose from the bench where he was half-heartedly picking at the breakfast roll Tilma had fixed him. He usually loved them, all warm and gooey in the middle with melted cheese and sliced ham, but his nerves were negatively impacting his appetite.

He quickly made his way into the dormitory and closed the door. Edric was still sleeping, though it had to be at least nine o’clock. Farkas had probably hunted last night, which meant his little darling had gone with him to stand guard. Vilkas’ twin was outside in the yard already, no more able to sleep in than any of the Circle was. Edric’s back was to the room, his braid lying behind him, having come partly loose overnight. The bite mark that had been on the left side of his neck and shoulder was gone. How Farkas could have done something so…so bestial was appalling. They had always been so careful with their lovers over the years, keeping a tight leash on their beasts in bed, but maybe Farkas didn’t feel the need to do so since Edric knew what he was. Vilkas couldn’t imagine what that was like, being with someone who knew and accepted it.

“I can feel you staring at me, Vilkas.”

The Companion took in a sharp breath, his heart skipping a beat. “I thought you were asleep,” he said, his voice not nearly as steady as he wanted it to be.

Edric muttered, “You’re a creepy son of a bitch, you know that?”

“How did you know it was me?”

“Who else would it be?”

Vilkas made a sound of embarrassment and backed away as Edric rolled over then quickly got to his feet, his green eyes wary. “I just wanted to talk to you,” Vilkas stated.

“No,” Edric said flatly, shaking his head vehemently as he waved his hands. “Absolutely not. I don’t want to talk about it, ever. Forget it.”

“Not that, damn it!” he protested, feeling a flush of humiliation rise in his face. He saw some of the tension leave the other man as Edric gave him another piercing look then turned away to open the nightstand at the head of his bed and pull out a bottle. The Dragonborn’s hands trembled as he pulled the cork and Vilkas watched him drink it down as a dying man would a health potion. His lip curling in disgust, he muttered, “I don’t know how Farkas tolerates you.”

Edric licked his lips and gave Vilkas a warm gaze as he lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t you?” he murmured, giving him a saucy wink. Vilkas growled in irritation, his cheeks warming anew. Edric sat down on the edge of his bed as he stated, “It’s quite simple, really. All pluses and minuses. I like to think my good traits outweigh my bad ones, and I won’t have this bad one much longer, Divines willing.”

“What makes you think you’ll be able to quit this time? And not kill my brother or Ria in the process?”

“Arcadia is mixing up a big batch of potions to keep me mostly sedated while I go through withdrawal. Sleeping tree sap mixed with…eh, I forget, something that extends the effect. Never did get the hang of alchemy. No patience for it, and it stinks. Anyway, I’m not any more immune to most potions or poisons than anyone else is, so whatever she’s mixing up will keep me down and incoherent for a while. She thinks I’ll be through the worst of it after three or four days. I eh, hope so, anyway.”

The other man’s anxiety was hidden fairly well, but not well enough. It was odd seeing Edric actually afraid of something.

The Dragonborn set the bottle on the side table then reached under the bed, asking, “So what did you want to talk about so badly that you ambushed me here?”

“Well, I…” He trailed off as Edric took out a narrow box of dark walnut wood then opened it and removed an ivory comb and proceeded to undo his braid. Tilma had told him that Farkas had bought Edric a birthday gift and assumed that was it. The younger man began combing out his hair, and for a moment Vilkas had the absurd mental image of a naked Edric combing his hair and singing, like one of the mythical sirens that sailors swore they saw along the southern coasts of High Rock.

“Well?”

Vilkas cleared his throat and went to sit on the empty bed across from Edric. He looked at Njada’s messy nest of a bed nearby and stated, “I have, eh…concerns. About the future of the Companions.”

“Good. You should.” He pulled his hair back into its usual braid as he continued, “Kodlak feels that this business with the Silver Hand will end in tragedy.”

“I could have told you that!”

“Yeah, well no one listens to you.”

A surge of anger went through him, and he squeezed his hands into tight fists as he pleaded, “I need you to not do that. For just this one conversation. I am…I am begging you to not rile me, just long enough to get this over with.” Edric seemed honestly surprised by that. “I know that I am not stable,” Vilkas stated. “I know that my behavior is inexcusable at times. And I know I could fix this by hunting, but I made a vow to Kodlak and I will not be an oath-breaker.”

“You’ll be cured before long, so—”

“I also swore that I would not take the cure before Farkas did.”

“Ahh,” Edric drawled, his eyes narrowing. “I see. Who did you make _that_ vow to?”

“Myself.”

“So you’re going to hold everyone prisoner to your instability and temper for the next several years, at least, because of a promise you made only to yourself? Do I understand that correctly?” Vilkas hesitated in answering, his gaze uneasy, and Edric’s voice hardened slightly as he leaned forward and prompted, “Do I, Vilkas?”

The Companion stated, “My word has to mean something!”

“If I kept every promise I made to myself in my head during a moment of weakness I never would have gotten anything done. Farkas makes his own choices about getting cured or not. If you hold out on fixing yourself because of him he will resent you for it, Vilkas, I promise you that. That you would actually consider putting this household through Oblivion simply so you can hold the cure over your brother’s head does not speak well of your character.”

“We took the blood together; we get cured together,” Vilkas said in a heated tone.

“Since you were born together, will you die together? That makes as much sense.” He stood and put his hands on his hips, saying, “I still don’t know what you want from me. You don’t like me, and I don’t like you, in fact I just slightly detest you, and you clearly aren’t going to take my advice on anything, so what is the point of this conversation?”

Vilkas kept his fists balled on his knees as he said, “Kodlak trusts your judgment, and so I must as well. You would not have lived through everything people say you have if it could not be trusted.” Edric grunted, no doubt stifling some biting comment through a great deal of effort. It was hard to look at the slender, beardless young man and see any hint of danger to him, any sign of dragon blood or a dragon’s soul, and yet of all the Companions here Vilkas knew best what Edric was from their nearly-disastrous trip to Dustman’s Cairn and the dragon they had fought together. Vilkas went on in an uncertain tone, “In my better moments I worry endlessly about the state of things here. Skjor and Aela put us all at risk with their actions, and they have been discreet so far. I fear that when Kodlak goes that their discretion will as well.”

“Probably,” Edric said with a nod. “What do you want me to do about it?”

“What did Kodlak ask you to do about it?” The Dragonborn seemed taken aback, but only for a moment. It was long enough though for Vilkas to see it. “Well? I can tell there are secrets between you and the old man. You are Dragonborn and so he has given you the kind of attention the other whelps don't get. I know he told you where the Glenmoril Witches are.”

“Aye, he did.”

“And he told you how to cure him, even after death?”

“Aye.”

“When will you go get the heads?”

Edric shrugged. “He didn’t tell me when to do it. If you don’t plan on getting cured, then what’s the rush?”

Vilkas stared at him in disbelief then exclaimed, “Because I would see my foster father’s soul safe in Sovngarde, that is the rush!”

“He said he told you about the Flame of the Harbingers. His soul will be drawn to it and it will shield him from Hircine’s eye. It isn’t as if I plan to leave him languishing there for weeks on end, for Shor’s sake. Have a little faith.” Edric smirked at him and added, “After all, I’ve done everything people say I have and then some, so how can you not?”

The Companion stared at him for a moment then asked, “So you did fight another Dragonborn, then? On Solstheim?”

“Aye, I did, and while still disabled and in pain, at that. When all was said and done, I took his soul like any other dragon’s. According to some people, I’m the second most powerful Dragonborn who has ever lived.” He folded his arms and leaned forward slightly. “Let’s hope you never have reason to find out why, brother.” Vilkas made a sputtering sound of derision as he sneered, and Edric went on in warning, “Aye, Kodlak trusts my judgment. He trusts that I will do whatever I deem necessary to fix matters here. I may not be able to stop any of it, but as Stendarr is my witness I will step in after the fact and adjust matters to my liking.” The older man blinked, his irritation faltering, and Edric shrugged and added with a cool smile, “It’s what I do. I’m a fixer.” Vilkas rubbed his hands over his face, leaning over to put his elbows on his knees, and the Dragonborn said, “That’s what you really wanted, wasn’t it? To know that I’ll make it all better? This little mess the Circle has gotten itself into is nasty, to be sure, but in the big scheme of things it’s a rather trivial sort of nasty.”

Vilkas let his hands fall away as he tiredly said, “And yet you plan on getting yourself tangled up into this mess.”

“Temporarily, yes. I have no intentions of letting the Lord of the Hunt take my soul, trust me.”

He yelled, “You cannot play such games with Daedra!”

“By my reckoning I’ve done it…twelve times, I think.”

Horrified by his flippancy, Vilkas stated, “You have already gained Hircine’s attention. He will not let you go a second time.”

“Who said he had a choice?”

Vilkas abruptly stood and moved close to Edric, looming over him. “You are a fool if you think you can play this game and win. You are risking an eternity in the Hunting Grounds by taking this course! You are going to war next year, damn it, and you cannot heal magically—”

“I can’t heal magically using energies channeled from Aetherius via spells or potions, however… Well, I’m probably going right over your head, aren’t I?”

“No. You are not,” he replied coldly. “I understand you perfectly well.”

“All right then. My body no longer responds to those healing energies. However lycanthropes have a connection to Oblivion. You have more stamina and heal more quickly than ordinary human beings. Yes, I just might die during the war and get sent to the Hunting Grounds, but if I do Farkas will eventually join me there, if he wants. And if I don’t die, carrying the beastblood might end up keeping me alive if I get wounded.”

Vilkas grit his teeth and growled, “You would doom my brother to Oblivion, and you have the balls to question my character?”

“Yes, I do question your character, because you’re trying to take his free will. I’m not dooming him to anything. If I die in the war he’ll know it, and he’ll have the choice in the years after that to continue as he is or take the cure. I want him to do whatever he wants to do.”

Vilkas moved closer to him, his eyes burning with anger as he said, “I do not believe that for one minute. You're so fucking arrogant. You think I don't see that he is nothing but a pet to you, a big stupid dog that follows you around and does your bidding?”

Edric took a deep breath then nodded. “Ah, so here we are again. Evil Vilkas has returned.”

“I have the right to be pissed off!” Vilkas shouted. “You are ruining my brother!”

“Am I? Or am I ruining your plans for your brother?” He clucked his tongue and shook his head as he rolled his eyes. “No. Waste of time. Again.” He turned away but Vilkas grabbed his upper arm and roughly yanked him back. Edric’s eyes sparked with fury as he demanded, “Hands off, dog.”

“I will not let you destroy my brother’s future,” the Companion seethed as he gave the smaller man a shake. “I will not—”

_“GOL HAH!”_

Vilkas gasped as the slap of thunder hit him then he relaxed and let go, wondering why on Nirn he had gotten so ridiculously worked up. He hummed in contentment and smiled at Edric, though the little dragon looked about ready to literally spit fire he was so furious, his face flushed and green eyes blazing. Vilkas couldn’t help but regret that, seeing as how it was his fault. It was completely wrong to go grabbing and shaking people like that.

“Sit. Down. Now,” Edric demanded, his jaw clenched, his voice rumbling.

“All right,” Vilkas said without concern, and did so. “How do you turn the thu’um on and off like that? Did the Greybeards teach you or did—”

“Shut the fuck up.” Vilkas’ eyes widened and he fell silent, and Edric leaned close to him and hissed, “Get a grip, asshole, or you will be one of those things I end up fixing, do you get me? I will truss you up like a midwinter feast boar and drag your ass up to Ysgramor’s Tomb and cure you with no thought whatsoever for your physical or emotional comfort or your status as my future brother-in-law. Farkas wants his brother back, and if I think you won’t give him that willingly then I just might have to step in and set things to rights, my way. Do you understand me?”

“Yes Dragonborn, perfectly,” Vilkas said with a smile and a nod.

“Good,” Edric murmured. He stared at Vilkas a moment longer with his tongue in his cheek then he straightened up and turned away to grab his bottle.

“It’s good to know that you’ll take care of things,” Vilkas said in relief. “It’s really…uh, really…” Vilkas shook his head as the warmth drained away, and as Edric slowly turned around to watch him with cold eyes and drink his ale the Companion felt a wave of horror rush through him. He shuddered, staring at the Dragonborn in terror, his mouth suddenly dry.

Edric swallowed the mouthful of liquor then stated in a flat voice, “Skjor doesn’t seem willing to take you in hand, Vilkas, however I have no problem at all with doing so. Farkas probably won’t like me doing it, but it’s for the greater good. Are you going to make me do this to you again?” Vilkas shivered then slowly shook his head. “Good. Of course you mean it right now, but we both know it won’t stick. Still, you’ll have this in the back of your mind constantly, won’t you? Stay on the straight and narrow and I won’t have to bend your will again, and I might not cure you against your will either. I’m a pragmatist and know that eventually you’re going to fuck up so spectacularly that nothing will save you, but until then we can have this pleasant illusion.” He smiled brightly and lifted the bottle to him in salute. “Have a _great_ day, Vilkas,” he stated in a cheerful tone, then he turned and threw the door open and left.

Vilkas stayed on the bed, a fresh shudder of fear sending chills down his spine. He heard the younger man go down the hall towards Kodlak’s room, and he let out a smothered peep of panic at the memory of completely losing control of his mind. At least when Edric had paralyzed him he had still had his complete mental faculties. This… this was beyond horrifying, having his will stripped from him. How could a shout exist that so utterly stole someone’s self-determination? He would have done anything Edric told him to. Anything at all. And he would have been happy to do so.

He forced himself to his feet, his entire body trembling. He could hear Edric’s voice at the end of the hall, talking to Ahlam. Vilkas took the opportunity to flee the whelps’ quarters, grabbing his breakfast roll on the way and hurrying upstairs. He sat at an out of the way table in the corner, watching Njada talking to Skjor about shield techniques, something about his grip. The two seemed completely unaware of the fact that an angry Dragonborn had shouted at Vilkas downstairs. The Companion had heard the sound echoing around him and an ending clap of thunder that everyone in the building should have noticed.

Though his appetite was nearly nonexistent, Vilkas forced down the roll, the ham and cheese now cold and glommed together in a rather unappealing way. The only positive that he could take way from this morning so far was that he had gotten his concerns aired, mostly. He had also lost control again, but at least he knew that Kodlak had fully confided in Edric and that the Dragonborn would do whatever had to be done to ‘fix things’ when it all fell apart, whatever that meant. Well he knew what it meant in regards to himself: Edric would in essence kidnap him and cure him against his will if he didn’t somehow manage to keep it together. At least until Edric left, that was.

The younger man’s arrogance though in regard to cheating Hircine was deeply worrisome. Vilkas supposed that after managing to avoid becoming a Daedric champion the last dozen times that Edric had reason for his self-confidence. After all, he was the second most powerful Dragonborn who had ever lived. Vilkas honestly didn’t have a clue what Edric was capable of. Whatever he had seen in the Cairn had only been a small taste, and this morning another. Well, regardless, Edric was no Tiber Septim; the man who became Talos had been the greatest Dragonborn who had ever existed, reshaping the land by sheer force of will and ascending to godhood, if Heimskr was to be believed. Whatever else Edric was, he was a conceited, aggravating, mouthy little bastard who clearly had no designs on ruling anything. The man didn’t even fulfill his responsibilities as Thane in any of the holds where he was titled. A Thane was supposed to be at his or her Jarl’s right hand, a minor lord who saw to the tasks the Jarl didn’t have time for, who lived in the hold and helped protect its people and lands. Edric was hiding out here doing odd jobs and screwing around with Farkas to pass the time, right under Vignar’s nose.

It was suddenly quite tempting to march up to Dragonsreach and tell Vignar that his Thane was here in Jorrvaskr, but Vilkas wasn’t entirely sure that the Jarl didn’t know who Edric was. He had stood there in the Gildergreen plaza with his hand on Edric’s shoulder during the ceremony to destroy the old tree. He might have seen the Dragonborn with his helmet off when Whiterun was taken years ago, or when Edric flew off on that dragon a year ago. If Vilkas went up there whining about who Edric was and Vignar said he already knew it, he would look like a fool. Well, he would look like a fool regardless. A petulant child.

He was done with his roll and had finally relaxed enough to consider going outside to spar with his brother when Edric came upstairs dressed in his steel armor. Vilkas kept his gaze firmly trained on the goblet of water in his hand but kept the Dragonborn in his peripheral vision, and the young man took a seat at the table and began dishing up breakfast, popping open a second bottle to drink with it. Vilkas felt a shiver go down his spine, certain that Edric was watching him, but when he rose from his seat to go outside he was pointedly ignored. Skjor was looking between the two of them with concern and Vilkas did his best to not acknowledge it.

Vilkas went outside with his body taut as a bowstring, not bothering to even attempt to hide how stressed he was. Just another six or seven months. He could hold it together that long, long enough for Edric to go off to war. Surely he could do that. He supposed that Edric’s threatening presence here in the meantime would keep him on the straight and narrow, because the man meant exactly what he said. He would make good on his promise to keep Vilkas under control while he was around. Divines knew he had plenty of ways of doing so. He could just imagine Edric wondering to himself _What will it be today, the paralyzing spell or the shout?_ Vilkas would lose what little respect he still had in this hall, at least until Edric forcibly cured Vilkas of the beastblood. He would do it too, without hesitation. He wouldn’t care that Farkas would be upset about his twin being kidnapped, or at least wouldn’t care enough to let it stop him. After all, just flash those sweet green eyes and give a little pout and a toss of the hair and all was forgiven.

He growled irritably under his breath as he went to the weapons rack, seeing his twin whacking at one of the training dummies. _Farkas wants his brother back…_ Vilkas watched him swing the sword, the tension that had been in him yesterday gone. So Farkas thought he didn’t have a brother? What in Oblivion was that comment supposed to mean anyway? Vilkas was always here and always had been. It wasn’t until Edric had shown up that things had started getting too difficult to manage. He wasn’t assigning blame; it was simply how it was. Edric’s presence here made things harder than they should be and that was the truth of it, at least from Vilkas’ point of view. It wasn’t as if there weren’t enough other things causing problems before the Dragonborn showed up.

Skjor, Edric and Njada came out the back doors and headed for the weapons rack, and Vilkas made a sound of dread and headed for his brother. Farkas glanced up and a guarded expression came over his face at the sight of his twin, then his eyes moved past Vilkas to his lover. The Companion swallowed down his hurt and said to Farkas, “Want to spar for a bit?”

“Yeah,” Farkas said with a nod. “Sure Vilkas.” Amiable as ever. There was wariness in his silver eyes, but he didn’t hesitate in going along.

Vilkas walked off to the far end of the training yard then took position, and as he and his brother began going at each other with long years of practice and familiarity he tried to ignore the others. Skjor and Edric sparred with longswords and shields while Njada critiqued them in her usual acerbic manner. Vilkas frankly thought that Edric had better start using a shield if he couldn’t heal. He knew the limitations of the two-handed sword better than anyone and while you could block with it, it offered a fraction of the protection a shield did. If the Dragonborn had any brains, and Vilkas knew damn well he did, he would start using one. Well, it wasn’t the Companion’s problem. He was going to do his best to keep Edric from being his problem, and vice versa, for the remainder of the man’s time here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally, after much frustration, was able to get my in-game Edric to look close to how I imagine him:  
> http://opalbee.deviantart.com/art/Edric-451882071  
> Even with a Bamboo tablet I suck at editing, so this is by no means perfect, but it is as close as I can get.
> 
> * * *
> 
> According to the Elder Scrolls wiki, if you get the Quiet Casting perk on the Illusion skill tree it can also silence your shouts to make them undetectable to others. I tweaked that slightly for story purposes to make it something that can be controlled (voluntary vs. involuntary).


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many apologies for the ridiculous amount of time that has passed since I last updated. Curse you Dragon Age: Origins for being the most addictive RPG I have ever played and stealing several months of my life from me! Which in turn led to me becoming obsessed with that fandom and doing some writing for it, but I honestly doubt I will publish any of it, as the many thousands of fics that are already out there are enough, I think. The odds of me bringing anything new to that fandom are minimal, though there are many gifted writers out there who still manage to surprisingly do so.
> 
> Thank you all for hanging in there, and thank you for the recent kudos from those who may have recently stumbled across this. I have another chapter on this nearly ready to go and will post it soon.

**Farkas, 1** **s** **t** **of Sun's Dusk, 4E205**

Farkas sighed with a heavy heart as he watched his man spar with Athis. The mer was lightning fast, of a similar size and build as Edric, making them well-matched in that regard. Edric's technique was more polished, the result of a decade in the Legion, and needless to say he surpassed the Dunmer in sheer experience, but the elf was faster. Athis seemed happy with the challenge, used to dancing in and out of the bigger Nords' defenses. Farkas was so used to Edric using a great-sword that it was odd to see him using a shield and smaller blade, but he seemed as competent with it as the other. The Companion was glad of it, agreeing with Skjor that the Dragonborn needed the greater protection a shield provided. It would make it harder for him to cast spells, or so Edric said, but Farkas trusted that his mate knew what he was doing.

He forced himself off the porch, and the two men stopped sparring, as did Ria and Njada nearby, seeing the look of grief on Farkas' face. It was anyone's guess where Torvar was; he spent as much time down at the Bannered Mare these days as he did the mead hall, and Farkas couldn't remember the last time the worthless sot had taken a job. Maybe now the Circle could come together as a cohesive group and do something about him. Well, it would be mostly cohesive. There was always Vilkas.

The four whelps came towards him and he met them halfway, and Edric quietly said, "So he's gone then." He set the shield on the nearby table then carefully laid the training sword across it, his expression strained.

"Aye, just a few minutes ago," Farkas replied. "Ahlam said one second he was there and the next… He just stopped breathing and that was it." She had made certain he was gone, most healers able to cast a spell to detect life, as Edric had during their first hunt together. There were always the old horror stories of people seeming to die then waking up at their own funerals. Not that there was any chance of that with Kodlak, as deathly ill as the old man had been for months. Edric blinked rapidly, his eyes unfocused, and Farkas murmured to Athis, "Could you go fetch Torvar?" The dark elf nodded. The big warrior added to Njada, "Go with him, and if Torvar won't come, make him. Whatever it takes."

"Aye," the shield maiden muttered, then she cracked her knuckles. "Gladly."

Once the other two Companions were gone, Ria moved close to Edric and put her hand on his back. "I'm sorry, my friend," she whispered.

"I barely knew him," Edric mumbled. "I should've come sooner. I should've… I thought we'd have more time. How did he go so fast?"

Farkas didn't have an answer for that, and really there wasn't one. "Do you want to go see him?" the big warrior asked.

"Where's Vilkas?"

His eyes narrowed as he stated, "Doesn't matter. You want to go see Kodlak, then you're gonna see Kodlak." He had caught his brother and his mate on the verge of trading punches too many times over the last several days, but the old man was no longer around to see it, and if Edric wanted to visit his father's body then he had every right to. Granted, Vilkas had every right to be there as well, but no more right than Edric did.

Ria softly asked in sympathy, "Why don't you just tell him the truth? Maybe it would help."

Farkas grimaced and stated, "Or send him over the edge. Kodlak didn't want him to know until everything was sorted out, and he left it up to Edric to say when that was." Ria didn't know the Circle's secret, so he left it at that, but the former Harbinger had asked that the knowledge of Edric's parentage be kept quiet until after Vilkas was cured. Farkas knew as well as anyone how poorly that secret would be received. With the blood tormenting him, Vilkas saw threats everywhere, and he would definitely find that a threat, the 'real' son coming along and displacing the one that Kodlak had raised.

"I'm not telling him," the smaller man muttered. "Fuck that. If I had my way he'd never find out."

"He called you a bastard!" Ria protested.

"So what? This isn't Cyrodiil or High Rock. I don't give a shit what Vilkas thinks. It's enough that I know. The people that matter know."

Ria's expression softened, and Edric huffed and rubbed his hand over his face then left it there. The girl looked at the Dragonborn with concern, and when she looked up at Farkas the big warrior gave her a pat on the back and asked, "Could you go tell Vignar? He's taking care of the funeral and all that." She nodded and gave Edric one last look of worry then dashed off towards Dragonsreach. Farkas moved close to his mate and took hold of his shoulders, smelling leather and sweat, but no real distress. Maybe it was a relief that this had finally happened. Farkas thought it was, even if it was sad. The old man wasn't suffering anymore and that was what mattered, though Vilkas wouldn't see it that way. By the Nine, he didn't look forward to what Vilkas was going to do now that Kodlak was gone.

"You okay?" he prompted, and Edric nodded as his hand came down. He looked up at Farkas and the Companion sighed silently at the look there, a sort of resigned sadness, with those touches of secret knowledge that had been there for the last week. It wasn't as if he didn't know that Edric kept all kinds of stuff to himself, still, things that had nothing to do with Kodlak. Dragonborn things. It was strange, thinking that Vilkas knew more about that than Farkas did. Vilkas had fought a dragon with Edric, had watched him absorb a soul, had seen him shout more than Farkas had, had watched him trash Ulfric's palace. If only his twin and his mate got along. The two could have been friends, could have filled a need in each other that Farkas couldn't, smart as both men were, and Farkas was not.

It wasn't as if Edric didn't talk to Farkas, and gods knew his mate never talked _down_ to him, but he knew there were some things that Edric just didn't talk to him about, period. Things Edric held back. No matter how loved he felt, no matter how much he was relied on, Farkas knew that something wasn't completely connecting yet, and he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. Maybe it was Edric's drinking getting in the way. Maybe it was the problems with Vilkas. Maybe it was Kodlak dying, or having to hide who he was, or the coming war, or the estrangement from Ulfric, or worry over his mother, or lingering grief over Ralof…it could be any number of things. It wasn't as if Edric didn't have plenty of things worth being preoccupied with.

The Dragonborn grumbled and lowered his eyes then looked away. "Have you ever gotten caught in an avalanche, love?" he asked tiredly.

"It's Skyrim, of course I have. Small ones though. Why?"

"It's just that sort of feeling. Seeing a mountainside coming towards you and knowing there's nothing you can do to avoid it." He paused then added, "Vilkas came and talked to me the other day. The morning after he…saw me."

Farkas' expression darkened, his imagination running away with him. "What did he say to you?" he growled, his hands tightening on the younger man's shoulders. If Vilkas had asked Edric to share his attentions he was going to go downstairs and pound his brother into dust. He was going to do it right in front of Kodlak's corpse and not care one damn bit how wrong it was.

Edric shook his head. "It wasn't _that_. He was worried about the direction the Companions were going. He wanted to verify that Kodlak had entrusted me with certain things. With fixing matters once they went wrong. I told him they would, I mean…Kodlak foresaw that the Silver Hand business is probably going to end badly. I can't stop that from happening. I can't stop Skjor and Aela. Not using…ethical means." Farkas grunted, his grip loosening. Edric cleared his throat and continued, "I was kind of…dismissive? Is that the word? About things here. About the seriousness of the problems here. I told Vilkas I thought they were trivial, in the big scheme of things. Maybe, with what I've been through over the years, I focus too much at times on the big scheme of things. Alduin and rampaging dragons and civil war. Daedric princes and first Dragonborns and…all that."

"Yeah?" Hearing all this worried Farkas, while at the same time making him feel a little relieved. Edric had been dismissive with Farkas too about the situation here. About dealing with Hircine.

"I just…am a little apprehensive, about what's coming. I, um…can be a little arrogant at times. About my abilities. About my ability to handle anything that comes my way. I thought things here wouldn't be any different than any other mess I've sorted out, but…the way I sort things out won't exactly work here."

"Oh." It wasn't hard to figure out how that was, either. Edric plowed into things headfirst and sorted them out by force, blasting through obstacles by blade, shout or magic. But the problems here were internal. Their numbers were down, Torvar was useless, Vilkas was barely coping, Aela and Skjor were antagonizing the Silver Hand, and Edric was an alcoholic. Yeah, things were a mess right now, and yeah, they could get even messier. But he was glad Edric was telling him all this. Maybe he had seen Farkas' worry and was trying to ease it. Kind of. It wasn't feeling eased so much as acknowledged.

Edric took Farkas' big hands in his own, looking down at them as he softly said, "I still want to take the beastblood. I know it isn't exactly my most brilliant decision, but I want it. I want that connection between us."

"I want it too, love," the Companion whispered. "More than anything."

"Once everything settles out, I want you to go with me to get the cure. For Kodlak. His soul is safe where it is until then. He assured me of that much. The Harbingers who've denied the blood hide from Hircine's gaze in the Tomb of Ysgramor. I'm the only one other than Skjor who knows where the Glenmoril Witches are. No one else can know. Especially Vilkas."

"Why?"

"The heads have to be collected intact. He isn't exactly known for his finesse. I have to take them all without spooking any of them into running. I also don't want him using them for any kind of leverage."

"But he wants to be cured." His lover sighed, and Farkas whispered, "Doesn't he?"

"He told me he had sworn to himself he wouldn't get cured until you did."

Farkas stiffened, his eyes wide as he stared at Edric, who raised his eyes to meet his gaze. "He can't do that," the Companion said, an edge of panic mixed with offense in his voice. "He can't. He doesn't have the right. He can't hold that over me!"

"Yes _miingi_ , he can, and he very well might." Farkas made a scoffing sound of hurt, and Edric sighed and ventured, "Farkas, sweetheart…have you ever considered that we might need to think about curing him against—"

"No!" He yanked his hands out of Edric's, and the smaller man shrugged and tiredly looked away.

"It could help us avoid a lot of problems."

"No. No goddamn way. I won't let you do that to him, Edric. Not even you."

Edric's expression didn't change as he murmured, "Suit yourself, love."

Not at all liking his mate's tone, Farkas demanded, "Swear to me you won't ever cure him against his will." Edric rubbed his forehead, his other hand on his hip. "Swear it!"

"Would you rather he was put down?"

Horrified, he cried, "It shouldn't have to come to either of those things!"

"No, it shouldn't, but he's going to push things until that choice will have to be made." Farkas shook his head, running his fingers back through his hair. Edric said in warning, "He _will_ do it, Farkas. It's in his nature. He can't leave things alone. He gets scared every so often and behaves himself for a while, but then he starts pushing and prodding again, and the pressure starts building." The bigger man rubbed his eyes and shook his head again, and Edric moved closer and stated, "I can read him every bit as well as I can anyone else, unstable or not. He _wants_ me to take things in hand. He was _relieved_ when I said I would do whatever it took to fix the situation here after things go to Oblivion, and they will. I can feel it, Farkas. He was the one who came to me the other morning. He did it knowing full well what it meant."

Farkas closed his eyes, hating this. He'd wanted Edric to open up a bit more, share his thoughts, and this was what came out. He knew things were hard right now with Kodlak dead and Vilkas on edge. He knew it. The old man's words about Farkas someday hating his brother came back to him, and right now Edric's demeanor was too much like his father's. That determination was something that had definitely come from the former Harbinger. Everyone had always trusted that Kodlak would do the right thing, that Kodlak knew best. Farkas trusted that about Edric too, but Edric would go farther in that than the old man ever would have. There was a cold, hard edge to the Dragonborn that Kodlak never could have had. Edric would dispose of Vilkas in a heartbeat if he thought the other man was a danger, and his only real regret would be causing Farkas grief.

He huffed in sorrow and opened his eyes, seeing Edric staring expressionlessly up at Dragonsreach, then the Dragonborn felt his attention and met his gaze again. Green eyes searched his silver ones then Edric said with regret, "I'm sorry this is upsetting you, love. I hate this as much as you do, but…this is what I am. I fix things. I told Vilkas that too the other morning. When things go wrong here, as Kodlak felt they would, I am going to pick up the pieces, and I will put those pieces back where I feel they should go. A time will come when I will either need to kill Vilkas or cure him. Let's hope I'm feeling charitable when that day comes."

"Okay, just…enough," Farkas whispered. Edric lowered his eyes, nodding, then he took a deep breath and stepped around the Companion and went inside, probably to get in an argument with Vilkas, because it was fairly inevitable that it would happen. "Shit," he whispered shakily, sitting down at the table and pulling the cork from a bottle of mead to take a drink. He wondered what it meant that he was coping with stress the same way his partner did. It probably meant nothing, and it wasn't as if he was about to develop a drinking problem. He wasn't even sure werewolves could, with their metabolisms the way they were, and the Circle never risked getting full-out drunk, with the secrets they kept. But by the Divines he could sure stand to get drunk right now.

**Vilkas**

"Don't," Skjor warned him as Edric came into the bedroom. Vilkas bared his teeth at the Dragonborn and snarled, and the Harbinger slammed the palm of his hand into the younger man's chest and said in a heated tone, "I will _not_ tolerate you doing this over my dead brother's body, Vilkas. Hircine help me I will drag your ass into the Underforge and yank that damned ring off your finger and _make_ you change and put an end to all this bullshit." Vilkas took in a sharp breath of shock then turned his head away, avoiding the one-eyed warrior's gaze, and Skjor blew out a breath of his own and let go of him. He beckoned to Edric, who was staring at Kodlak's body with tears in his eyes. "Come here, lad," he said more gently. "We're waiting for Andurs to come perform the last rites and help prepare the body. Tilma just went to fetch him."

"Ria's getting Vignar," Edric mumbled as he moved to the bedside.

"Good."

The young man avoided looking at Vilkas as he stared down at Kodlak, then he licked his lips and whispered, " _Laas_."

Vilkas shivered as the word echoed softly in the room, and he saw Skjor startle slightly at the sound of a word of power so close by. Edric made a sound of grief then he knelt by Kodlak's bedside, taking the old man's hand and pressing it to his lips as tears slid down his cheeks. Vilkas had to pull his gaze away, wanting to stay angry, wanting to view the Dragonborn as an intruder. That was hard to do when the other man was openly crying, his pretty eyes shining wetly, that nearly-perfect face twisted with grief.

" _Bormah_ ," Edric whispered. " _Zu'u fen staavek hi_." He closed his eyes and held Kodlak's hand to his forehead and went on, " _Kaan, brud ok sil wah Qoth do_ Ysgramor. Arkay, _dein mok nol miin do Sivaas Drog_."

The Companion felt his anger drain further as Edric prayed in the dragon tongue. That had to be what the man was doing. It surprised him at times, how devout the Dragonborn was. More devout than even Jergen had been, which had always been surprising considering the dog's soul had fully belonged to Hircine since before Vilkas and Farkas had been born. He wondered what his father would have made of Edric, and just as soon knew the answer. Jergen would have been driven to distraction by Edric's effeminate mannerisms then upon finding out he was actually Dragonborn would have been confused beyond belief. He would have wondered how the Divines could have made such a mistake, when everyone knew the Dragonborn should have been cast in the mold of Talos himself, not this… _weird_ Nord who was built like a Breton, who could shout down dragons yet sing as sweetly as a bird, who was stronger than the biggest man here but as lovely as a woman. Well, perhaps Jergen would have had no choice but to get used to it or drive himself mad, just as Vilkas had been forced to do.

Edric finally fell silent, and Skjor let out a long sigh and rubbed the young man's shoulder as he murmured, "We should do something for Ahlam."

"Yes," the young man said with a nod. He sniffed and wiped his face. "I should have come sooner," he muttered. "I shouldn't have…wallowed for so long."

"You came when you were ready. He never begrudged it, lad. Not once."

"I know." He sniffed again then raised his eyes to Vilkas'. "I'm…sorry," he forced out. "About Kodlak."

Vilkas' lip twitched as he said in disdain, "I do not need your pity, whelp." He refused to feel guilty when the young man's face turned to stone, his eyes cold.

Skjor slowly shook his head as he stated in exasperation, "Come on, Vilkas. He's being polite. Don't you even recognize it anymore?"

"Politeness. From him. From the one who destroys everything he touches." The Dragonborn made a bitter, laughing sound of disbelief, and Vilkas went on, glaring at him, "You came here and stirred up everything. The stress of having you here made him go sooner."

Edric tiredly retorted, "Oh, is that your expert opinion as a healer? You'll really latch onto anything, won't you." He set Kodlak's hand on the bed then stood, grimacing as his left knee creaked and popped. "I refuse to bicker with you over his body."

"It is nothing but an empty shell at this point."

"It's the idea. It's… No. Forget it." Edric shook his head and left the room.

Vilkas rose from the bed and Skjor growled, "Leave him alone."

He ignored the Harbinger, hearing the older man mutter an obscenity behind him as he left. He followed the Dragonborn, seeing the tension in his shoulders. Vilkas did not walk quietly and Edric was well aware that the Companion was following him. A tiny part of his brain wondered where Farkas was and why the two lovebirds weren't together right now. Maybe Edric was going back to him. That notion was set aside as the young man went into the whelp's quarters, and when Vilkas followed him in he saw Edric pull his sword Stormfang from under the bed, along with his steel armor. "Where do you think you are going?" he demanded.

"To get a gift for Ahlam, not that I need to explain myself to you," Edric replied.

"And this involves gearing up?" His voice faltered as Edric unbuckled his leather training armor and pulled off the cuirass then tossed it aside, and the scent of male sweat and cinnamon wafted towards him as the braid swung across a muscled back. The Dragonborn had surprisingly few scars from nearly fifteen years of fighting, most of that probably with a healing spell at hand. Every cut he received from now on would scar, if it didn't kill him outright.

"I have to go outside the city to get it."

Vilkas' irritation faltered in his confusion. "Why?"

"Because I know what I want to give to her," he stated as he undid his leather pants and began sliding them down. "I have caches outside every major city where I don't own a house. The one here in Whiterun Hold contains a nice amulet that increases Restoration ability. Good for a healer. It's the least I can do for her after all the time she spent caring for Kodlak."

"She has already been paid," Vilkas said tersely, the words coming out somewhat breathless as the pants came all the way down. Of course the other man wasn't going to spare him. And why should he, when they were nothing more than shield-siblings?

Edric shook his head and muttered, "You really don't understand basic social niceties, do you. It's not even that you're an asshole, you just. Don't. Get it." He pulled on the fur pants that went under the armor, and when Vilkas hadn't yet left he turned around to fasten them up, his eyes narrowed in irritation, still red from crying. "Enjoying the show, brother?" Vilkas flushed, and Edric threw his hands out to the side and said in annoyance, "There you go. You already saw the back, so here's the front. Happy wanking."

"Bastard," Vilkas hissed. "By the Nine, you're a bastard." The front was even lovelier than the back. It had been so long since he had lain with another man that it had been easy to forget the particular masculine beauty some had. Edric didn't lack for fairness of body any more than his face did, with perfect proportions and narrow hips and the tiniest little nipples the Companion had ever seen. The young man was surprisingly hairy, though nowhere near as much as Farkas and Vilkas were, and there was that tantalizing line trailing down, drawing the eyes. He hadn't expected Edric's body hair to be sprinkled with white, though now that he saw it he supposed there was no reason it wouldn't be.

Edric's lips flattened in anger as he lifted a hand that was suddenly glowing green, and as Vilkas quickly looked away the Dragonborn pressed, "What the fuck do you want? Leave me alone!"

"Do not take the blood." There was a note of desperation in his voice that was humiliating, and he couldn't help it. He was suddenly terrified of Edric taking the beastblood, and it had nothing to do with his brother forming a mating bond with the whelp. The green glow died and he heard an exasperated sigh from the Dragonborn then the younger man continued dressing. Vilkas kept his eyes averted as he pleaded, "I am…ugh, I am _begging_ you, to not take the blood." Everything would simply be impossible then. The smell of wolf, the feel of pack, on top of the already-existing issue of Edric's attractiveness and that intriguing spicy scent… He had no idea how he would cope. No idea at all.

The opening of the door from upstairs made the Dragonborn whisper, "Mind yourself, wolf." Edric pulled on the leather and steel cuirass and began buckling it, just as Athis and Njada herded Torvar into the room and towards his bed, the drunk grumbling and cursing the entire way, then the elf and shield maiden left as if they couldn't get away from the man fast enough. Edric hesitated then blew out a long breath and looked up at Vilkas, quietly saying, "I don't want to fight with you, damn it. I've already made my choice, so just leave it alone." Vilkas' jaw clenched as he glared at the wall. "Look," the Dragonborn said in a charitable tone, though it sounded like it was an effort, "how about we spar tomorrow morning. Just you and me. Beat the crap out of each other and let off some steam."

Surprised by the offer, Vilkas considered it for a moment then muttered, "It may cause problems." Rile Vilkas' blood, rile both their formidable tempers. It was tempting though. He'd wanted a go at the Dragonborn since finding out who he was. Seeing how skilled Edric had been against the man who was now their Harbinger hadn't changed that one bit, though it would make Vilkas cautious during the match.

"Maybe, so what?" The young man paused then added in a taunting tone, "Maybe I won't even temper my hits like I did with Skjor."

"You're full of shit." Edric laughed, unrepentant, and Vilkas said, "Surely you didn't throw the fight. I watched every move and I _know_ you did not throw it."

"I used every bit of skill at my disposal, yes, but I didn't hit as hard as I could have." He lifted an eyebrow. " _You_ know how hard I can hit. This isn't about finesse or seeing who's better, just burning off some energy and staying out of the way of the…preparations."

The Companion sighed, "Fine. Tomorrow morning. Training leathers will be fine, but you will continue to use a shield and longsword. You cannot heal and I will not be responsible for beating you black and blue and dealing with Farkas' fussing." The training swords were dull, but they could still cause injury. If Edric broke any bones they would take weeks or even months to heal.

Edric rolled his eyes and said in an overly patient tone, "Yes, I'm very concerned about getting bruised. I'm a fragile, overripe fruit and my man can't stand seeing a single mark on my delicate flesh, oh my."

The Dragonborn flapped his hands with a look of mock alarm, and Vilkas stared at him with a sneer twitching along his upper lip before he turned on his heel and walked away. By Ysmir, some days it took all his willpower not to slap the man. Even if he took a beating himself, he was looking forward to tomorrow and whatever small opportunity it afforded to smack some respect into Farkas' smartassed mate.

He glanced at Torvar as he left the whelps' quarters and the blonde was sitting on the edge of his bed and glaring hatefully at nothing in particular. That was something that needed to be addressed as well once the funerary proceedings were over, when the Circle next met. It would be unpleasant dealing with both matters, but the drunk could no longer be allowed to drag down the name of the Companions. Heavy drinking was nothing new in this hall, but shirking one's duties was completely unacceptable. Torvar couldn't expect to live off of, and drink off of, the guild's coin if he wasn't bringing any in. This wasn't a charity.

Vilkas went to his quarters and shut and locked the door, wanting nothing more than to be alone the rest of the day. The hall would be quiet tonight, as the priest of Arkay came to give Kodlak his last rites and help Skjor prepare the body, with the trimming of fingernails and fixing the old man's hair and beard, and dressing him in his finest clothes so he could be laid out before Jorrvaskr's doors tomorrow afternoon for the public to pay their respects. Vignar and Eorlund would oversee the building of the funeral platform in front of the Skyforge, where on the third day those attending would give Kodlak final gifts to take into the afterlife with him, things that could burn along with the body, then the entire pyre would be lifted onto the forge to burn. There would be no ashes to scatter; the old man had been very specific about the disposition of his remains, that nothing should be left behind, that everything he was should be given to the Skyforge and that Eorlund knew what needed to be done.

A swell of grief washing through him, Vilkas sat down on his bed and put his head in his hands. Dying of the rot was no way for a warrior to go, especially a warrior as renowned as the old man had been. He had been one of the longest-serving Harbingers the Companions had seen in over a century. What was more he had been a good man, kind-hearted even in his sternness. If only he had truly been Vilkas and Farkas' father, instead of the harsh, loveless beast who had sired them. He didn't care what Kodlak had tried to tell him, Jergen had never had a caring bone in his body, and it was Kodlak who had been the father of Vilkas' heart.

He huffed in sorrow and lifted his head, unable to bring up any tears at the moment, having spent too long watching the old man waste away. He heard the deep rumble of his brother's voice coming down their hall and the answering soft timbre of Edric's, then about ten minutes later the heavy clank of Farkas' wolf armor as the two left again. Maybe the Dragonborn was taking his boyfriend to see the cache, wherever it was.

Vilkas rose to his feet and went to his chest to look for something to send with Kodlak, even if his soul was trapped between planes at the moment. If Edric got his ass in gear it wouldn't stay that way, and the Companion was determined to not allow the Dragonborn to drag his feet in that regard. The notion of the cache though vexed him a bit. So Edric had hidden gear and loot all over Skyrim, in those holds where he didn't own a house. Where did one hide such a thing, where it would be safe from discovery by bandits or even curious animals? It couldn't be all that far away if it was only a quick trip. Well maybe now that he was intending to mate with Farkas and adopt children he could buy Breezehome and store his loot there. From what Vilkas had gathered Edric had houses in Riften, Markarth and Windhelm and owned a piece of empty property in Hjaalmarch; Edric's mother lived in Riften, looked after by his housecarl there, the house in Markarth had no housecarl, Argis dead, unless Jarl Silver-Blood had seen fit to appoint another, and as far as Vilkas knew Edric had never lived in the Windhelm house, having intended to settle down with Ralof there.

A twinge of guilt poked at him as he fished out the single dragon scale, and as he unwrapped it the spicy scent rose up. This would have been a fitting gift to send to Sovngarde, but it wouldn't burn. Flashes of scarred, hairless skin flashed in his mind's eye and he shuddered, forcing the images away and bringing up the current reality: ripples of white and light brown flowing down a strong, slender back and spring-green eyes, two of them. That fair face was still marred, but it was such a vast improvement on the horror of before that it was hard to even notice it. Vilkas had to be glad that his twin hadn't seen the wreck that the Dragonborn had been a year ago.

He brought the dragon scale up to his face and breathed in, and the scent was overwhelming, much stronger than the spiciness that floated around Edric. It had been…good of the whelp to make the offer to spar tomorrow. _I don't want to fight with you_ … The younger man had said it more than once. Maybe that had been behind the offer, a way for Vilkas to get out some aggression in a healthier way than snarling and bickering. His face warmed at the memory of Skjor taking him to task over Kodlak's body. It had been a churlish thing of Vilkas to do, when it was obvious how much Edric had loved the old man, and how much Kodlak had loved him back.

It was hard to believe he was gone. Vilkas vaguely remembered Askar's funeral, the prior Harbinger interred in the Hall of the Dead as some who followed the old ways asked to have done. Most Nords nowadays preferred to be cremated, to avoid leaving behind a corpse that could be reanimated. No, Kodlak had been very firm on that account, that his remains should be given to the Skyforge. As far as Vilkas knew, and he knew the Companions' history well, no one had ever been cremated there before. Maybe one of the old man's visions had told him to do it, who knew. Eorlund had accepted it without blinking an eye, but then the Gray-Manes had always held secrets that only Harbingers were privy to.

Vilkas replaced the scale back in its spot at the bottom of the chest that held his most treasured belongings, not that there was a lot there. He didn't place sentimental value on much, unlike Farkas. He dug through the chest without much enthusiasm, finding little that was worth sending to the afterlife with his foster father. He had kept nothing of his, their, childhood, but Farkas might have something squirreled away, though what he might have kept was beyond Vilkas. He had never poked around in his twin's room, finding its messiness aggravating, though since he had started courting Edric the situation in there had improved drastically. He supposed it was good that the whelp had made at least _one_ thing better around here, even if he had caused all else to go to Oblivion, including Kodlak's health. The old man had still been able to get up and walk around before Edric showed up, and after the Dragonborn had come through the doors the Harbinger had begun to fail at a precipitous rate. Danica and Ahlam both had said that stress could lower the body's defenses.

 _You were the main source of that stress_ , his conscience whispered. "Shut up," he muttered. "Traitor." He wouldn't have been so difficult if Edric weren't here. But…the old man had wanted Edric here. He had forged some kind of bond with the Dragonborn at some point, though how when they had met only briefly was beyond Vilkas. Had they maybe exchanged letters? Ulfric had mentioned sending letters of his own in the supply drops that were delivered to High Hrothgar every month. It wouldn't have been difficult for Kodlak to send a letter to Ivarstead and have it forwarded on from there, and for Edric to do the same going the other way.

Vilkas closed the chest and rose, still at a loss as to what to place on Kodlak's funeral bier. If he were Farkas he could carve something. Tilma was always sweeping shavings out of his room these days. Maybe that was what his twin had been doing while Edric had been sitting with Kodlak the last few weeks. But Vilkas was hopeless with his hands and had no craft. He had seen the hawk Farkas had made and the mammoth that he was nearly finished with, and he admitted with no reluctance whatsoever that his brother had a talent. The big lug had even gotten fairly competent at playing simple songs on the lute, which Vilkas had once considered an impossibility. All right, fine, so Edric had accomplished _two_ good things here.

Maybe now that the old man was gone Edric wouldn't feel compelled to hang around Jorrvaskr so much. The whelp had taken all of three or four jobs, which was utterly ridiculous. Business was picking up now that the Dragonborn wasn't coming to the rescue of every pathetic soul who crossed his path. If Edric stayed busy, and Vilkas stayed busy as much as his current issues allowed, maybe they could somehow make it through the next five to six months until the Dragonborn was called to war. Maybe Ulfric would even get wind of his general's whereabouts, though Vilkas had enough honor left in him to vow that the information wouldn't come from him. It seemed inevitable that word of a newblood reaching the ranks of the Circle within months of joining would reach the High King's ears, along with the name of that newblood.

The Companions' deeds were talked about throughout the nine holds and such a novel circumstance would surely be blathered about, and eventually Ulfric would hear of it, or Galmar Stone-Fist. Vilkas wondered if Vignar would get dressed down by the King for harboring the Dragonborn and keeping that knowledge from him. The Companion then had the sudden, odd thought that it was possible Vignar already _had_ told Ulfric, and the King was charitably allowing his Stormblade to do as he wished until war came. It wasn't out of the realm of possibility, sly as the Revered could be. After all that the Dragonborn had done for Ulfric and his cause, after Ulfric's deception regarding Ralof's death, maybe out of some attempt at kindness it was possible that the High King was leaving Edric completely alone.

Vilkas shook his head and went to his bookshelf to try to find something he hadn't already read and reread a dozen times. Let the Dragonborn slum about with mercenaries for the fall and winter and have his fun with Farkas. Let him be a misguided, short-sighted idiot and take the beastblood. There was nothing Vilkas could do about any of it that wouldn't make it all worse for both the Companions and Farkas. His only hope was that the whelp didn't die in the war and take Farkas' mind with him. Aela's mother Gislun had still been alive when the twins had taken the blood, and as the pack's lorekeeper she had impressed on the young men the dangers of taking a permanent mate, though clearly Farkas hadn't paid attention or he wouldn't be so set on it. It bound two souls together so tightly that the loss of one partner could unhinge the one left behind, if not completely take away their will to live. The thought of that happening to his brother was maddening. It was selfish of Edric to put Farkas in such a situation. Greedy. Cruel.

Anger flooded his body with restlessness, and he turned away from the bookcase to the training dummy instead. If only he had been able to summon up the guts to do something about Edric early on. _Maybe in Dustman's Cairn_ , he thought as he began pounding his fists into the straw-filled burlap. Yes, the Cairn would have been the perfect opportunity to dispose of the whelp, before he had fully gotten his hooks into Kodlak and started fucking Farkas and corrupting him. It was an opportunity that would never come again, and now Farkas was too attached and even if Vilkas found a way to get rid of Edric he wouldn't be able to bring himself to do it. No, better to hope that the war did the job. Vilkas would be here when it happened to pick up the pieces and set his twin back on the right path, the one they had agreed to long ago. It was inevitable really that war would be the end of Edric, with his inability to heal, and the Thalmor would spare nothing in an attempt to get at the Dragonborn on the battlefield. It had been one thing for the man to toy with the elves in their small groups that had traveled Skyrim, but he would be facing the might of the Aldmeri Dominion, and he was just one man. His skills and the thu'um would do him little good then.

He smiled in a sneer as he punched the dummy, imagining all the ways the elves could take the Dragonborn down. The mer were nothing if not inventive in the ways of killing men.

**Vilkas, 2** **nd** **of Sun's Dusk, 4E205**

The Companion swallowed hard as he trudged out of the back door of Jorrvaskr, seeing Edric in the bastion behind the training ground. The morning sun made a halo of his hair, turning the light brown into blond. The younger man was leaning against the low wall, staring up at the Throat of the World, fingering his amulet of Kynareth and murmuring softly. Praying, perhaps.

The door fell shut behind him with a bang and Edric glanced over, and when the Dragonborn smiled at him in greeting he felt his gut twist with nauseating guilt. He nodded politely and headed for the weapons rack, ignoring Torvar as he passed. The drunk was up unusually early, looking red-eyed but sober for once, if resentful. Frankly Vilkas didn't give a skeever's ass how Torvar felt. The man's days were numbered here, and unless he managed some miraculous turnaround within the next few days he was no longer anyone that Vilkas considered a shield-brother.

He listlessly picked up his training sword and put it on his shoulder then watched Edric approach. He tried not to shudder as he wrestled with the almost physical ache of remorse over his thoughts the prior afternoon. In hindsight he tried to retrace his trail of thought and what had led him to spiral down into fantasies of Edric being offed in gruesome ways, and in the bright light of day he couldn't follow. Watching the pretty warrior coming towards him, it was impossible to believe he could ever slide into a state like last night's, and yet he had, over and over again. It made him wearily wonder if he should get cured after all. It wouldn't make him any less an asshole, but at least he would be a stable asshole.

Edric's steps faltered a bit as he met Vilkas' eyes, but when the Companion looked away the Dragonborn sighed and armed himself, choosing the longsword Skjor favored, along with a heavy wood and leather training shield. "So what's the story with useless third son over there?" Edric asked, not bothering to be quiet about it.

"Hell if I know," Vilkas muttered. "Maybe he decided he wanted to play Companion for a few more days." The Dragonborn snorted and walked away onto the sparring ground, and Vilkas' jaw clenched as he watched the tip of the long braid tickle the top of Edric's ass. Why did the leather training armor's pants have to fit the bastard so differently than they did everyone else? He grumbled and followed, watching the hair sway, and when Edric was satisfied with their spot and turned Vilkas asked him in a curt tone, "You going to do something about that hair before you flounce off to war?"

Edric raised an eyebrow and countered thoughtfully, "I flounce? Huh. I always rather thought I pranced. Sashayed, perhaps."

"Can you not answer anything seriously?"

"No, Vilkas. No I can't." He tapped the flat of the sword against his chin and went on, "It's all part of my plan, you see."

"Plan," the Companion replied in confusion, a split second before his brain caught up and told him it was a very bad idea to encourage the whelp in any way.

"The hair."

Divines help him, he was completely incapable of not rising to the bait. He sighed, "How in Oblivion is your hair part of any kind of plan?"

"There's a shout that can clear the skies, you know," Edric murmured as softly as possible, most likely knowing a werewolf could pick it up where Torvar couldn't.

"No, I didn't, but so what? What does that have to do with anything?" By Ysmir, he was quickly losing what little patience he had.

"I figured I'd find a nice, small hill, with good visibility all around. I'd walk up to the top, undo my hair, clear the skies, and when the sun shone down upon me all would be so blinded by my unearthly beauty that the Thalmor would lay down their arms and—"

"All right, enough, enough," Vilkas groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as he squeezed his eyes shut. "Gods." He heard the whelp laugh and he made a sputtering sound of annoyance. When he opened his eyes Edric was grinning at him, cocky and obnoxious and too handsome for his own good or anyone else's. The Companion growled loudly, his teeth bared, and whipped the great-sword off his shoulder and swung at the other man, and as he had known he would the Dragonborn flung up the shield and blocked it, his grin never wavering. "Arrogant bastard," he spat.

"Mad dog," Edric countered, swinging his own sword at Vilkas' midsection. The Companion leapt back and the tip of the dull blade brushed the leather. Edric yipped and barked at him and Vilkas snarled in furious offense. The Dragonborn stabbed at him and Vilkas knocked it away then got a shield bash in his chest that nearly knocked him off his feet. "Come on, brother," Edric taunted. "Don't make it so easy."

He reined in his temper with an effort, knowing it was making him sloppy. The whelp's smile was gone, replaced with that look of perfect concentration he had worn in Dustman's Cairn and during his sparring match with Skjor. The two men began testing each other, feeling each other out, already slightly familiar with each other's technique from the newblood's Trial. As Vilkas feinted he stated in a casual tone, "It is a shame my brother is away this morning. There will be no one to come to your rescue, whelp." Farkas had ridden to Riverwood early this morning with the younger Gray-Manes and Eorlund to procure wood for the funeral bier, accompanied by the Whiterun wagon driver Bjorlam to cart it back. Vilkas had told his twin nothing of this morning's plans, and clearly Edric hadn't enlightened his lover either. The big oaf never would have left if he had known this match had been set.

"The only thing Farkas has ever saved me from is myself." He darted left and when Vilkas moved to guard himself he spun right and struck the Companion across his lower back, making him stumble and cry out in pain, then Vilkas quickly brought up the sword as the Dragonborn swung down at his head.

The force of the blow vibrated down his arm, and he hissed, "What are you trying to do, kill me?" Edric didn't answer, whirling around to take another swipe at Vilkas' back, but the Companion twisted and blocked the blow. The Dragonborn made a sound of polite approval and nodded, but Vilkas only found it patronizing. He was still rattled by the attempt to strike his head, something that very well could have killed him instantly as strong as Edric was. Perhaps the Dragonborn felt his opponent's skill was enough to easily counter the blow, but it wasn't a sure thing.

Over the course of the match, informal as it was, Vilkas felt himself growing irritated again, though managably. Edric's manner as he fought bugged the hell out of him. It was too controlled, his expression unchanging other than the occasional furrowed brow or clenched jaw, his moves too smooth and polished. Skjor had spent nearly as much time as a soldier as Edric had, and yet the Harbinger fought like he meant it, but then so had Edric when he had fought Skjor.

He realized then that _that_ was the issue. The whelp wasn't feeling it. He wasn't enjoying this one bit. His demeanor was businesslike and detached, whereas during his match with Skjor he had seemed to take some joy from the fight, had grinned at the older man and fought with more fervor, his movements looser, more open. It was almost as if Edric had suggested this with prior intent instead of off the cuff as it had seemed. Maybe Skjor had even put him up to it, to keep Vilkas out of the way, and out of trouble. It was as if Edric hadn't actually wanted to spar at all and instead was… _babysitting_ him. Taking one for the team by keeping him occupied while the grownups took care of business.

Vilkas snarled and swung the sword up then brought it down hard, giving the Dragonborn a taste of his own medicine, and Edric's expression hardened as he flung up the shield to block the blow that would have caved in his skull and instead cracked the training shield.

"So that's how it's going to be," Edric stated, with a satisfying amount of irritation. The whelp shook off the broken shield then gasped and brought up his sword to block another swing. "Hey, I'm calling it!" Edric shouted. "I yield!"

"Too bad," the Companion growled. "You think you are so fucking superior. It is time someone put you in your place, newblood."

The Dragonborn backed away, warning furiously, "I will _hurt_ you, dog. All bets are off if you come at me again." Vilkas didn't answer, kicking aside the cracked wood and leather shield. "Are you listening to me? I will use magic on you if you come at me, Vilkas, and I won't be paralyzing you either."

The Companion kept advancing on him, swinging his sword back and forth in front of him like a pendulum, giving him a sneering smirk. He saw the young man brace himself and call up lightning in his right hand, glaring at him with murder in his green eyes, then there was a flash and Edric gasped and threw his arm up to cover his eyes, the spell interrupted. Vilkas growled and swung down and the whelp danced backwards, but not fast enough, and he cried out in pain as the great-sword connected with his right leg. His own sword clattered to the ground as Edric clutched his leg, and Vilkas surged forward and grabbed that ridiculous, girlish braid, wrapping it around his hand as he used it to swing the Dragonborn around and ram his forehead into the stone wall behind them.

"Now do you see the problem?" Vilkas snarled, giving Edric a shake. "This will get you killed, this stupid affectation of yours. No true warrior would wear his hair like this." The young man groaned and weakly struggled to get away, seeming dazed, only Vilkas' hand around his hair keeping him upright. The Companion made a sound of contempt and shook him again, then he smelled it. Blood. A great deal of blood. It shocked him out of his state but before he could react he felt a hand come down hard on his leg a split second before his entire body felt like it had been lit on fire from the inside out.

Vilkas screamed and fell to the ground, twitching as lightning surged through and around him. It felt like it lasted for minutes, but when it ended he rolled over with a groan and saw Edric propping himself up with his back against the stone wall he realized it had only been several seconds. Vilkas dragged himself to his hands and knees, his bones aching, his jaw sore from clenching it.

"I should kill you, asshole," Edric hissed. "I would if I didn't want you to suffer."

The Companion couldn't blame him for the sentiment, but when he finally had the strength to lift his head he felt a wave of confused horror at the sight of blood coursing down Edric's right leg. His leather pants were sliced through the middle of his thigh and he had his right hand clamped over the wound but blood continued to well up through his fingers. "No," Vilkas groaned in a small voice. "No no no, I did not do that. I could not have done that."

"Fucking liar!"

"The training blades are dull!" Vilkas cried in a panic. Too much blood. There was too much blood, and the artery that ran through the leg there could make someone bleed out within minutes if cut.

"Well someone sharpened this one, dumbass!"

"It wasn't me! I would never stoop so low!" He lurched to his feet. "Danica. I have to get Danica." He then stopped himself and shook his head. "We have to tie it off first," he stated. If the artery was severed—

"It isn't that deep," Edric growled. "Just go get her. And when I find out who did this I'm going to break their fucking neck. And after that I'm going to kick your fucking ass."

The faintest rumble touched the other man's voice, making the hairs on Vilkas' body stand on end. He supposed he should feel grateful that Edric believed that he'd had nothing to do with this, other than losing his temper, and his sanity, yet again, for just as little reason as always. He had violated a basic precept of their guild by continuing to attack when a shield-sibling had yielded, and he had further piled on the offenses by slamming him against the wall as he had. An ugly red lump was already forming on Edric's forehead, and all Vilkas could be glad for was that it hadn't been the whelp's nose instead. He motioned at Edric and ordered, "Lie down at least. It will take the pressure off the wound." The other man had the common sense to do so and slid down the wall, grimacing. The sight was horrifying, and Vilkas had no idea how he was going to explain this to Farkas and Skjor. No idea at all.

As he turned away he saw Torvar quickly walking around the side of the building, a pack slung over his shoulder, and disbelieving realization went through him. He ran after him, and when he came around the building the blond was hurrying down the stairs. Vilkas ran after him and Torvar quickened his pace, hearing the Companion's feet behind him. "Guards, stop him!" he shouted, waving his hand, and when the nearest one looked confused and pointed at Torvar he yelled, "Yes, him!"

The guard shook his head but did as ordered, and when Torvar pulled his weapon Vilkas knew for certain that his former shield-brother was responsible for Edric's wound. Other guards hurried to surround him when they saw their comrade threatened, and as Vilkas approached he demanded, "Lower your weapon, Torvar. Do not make this any worse for yourself."

"I did nothing," Torvar sneered. "This is bullshit."

"That will be for the Jarl to decide. Put down your weapon, for you are not fit to wield Skyforge steel, oath-breaker." Torvar glared at him then sneered and threw the sword at Vilkas' feet. He took it then motioned to the guards and said, "He attempted to murder a fellow Companion. See that he is locked up and the Jarl notified. Tell the Jarl that it was Edric who was attacked. Make very certain that he knows it was Edric." The blond's defiant expression turned to one of confusion at that then Torvar drew himself up and smirked. If only he knew. Vignar was going to have his head for this, if indeed the Revered knew who the Dragonborn was.

"Aye Companion," the first guard said with a nod.

Vilkas didn't stick around to see anything further, running across the plaza towards the temple of Kynareth. He spared a second's attention as he sprinted past the Gildergreen, the little tree now three feet high and still blooming madly even in the midst of fall, its pink and red flowers perfuming the area.

He burst into the Temple, startling Jenssen who was sweeping the entry. "Danica," Vilkas said breathlessly as he hurried past.

"By the shrine," the man counseled.

Vilkas went to her and she was already rising to her feet, dusting off her robes. "Edric is hurt," he stated. "Bad cut to the thigh."

"Divines bless," she said with deep worry, immediately turning away, the Companion following. She knew Edric was unable to take magical healing, but her knowledge extended beyond that and she was a skilled medic. As she gathered her bag she asked, "How did this happen?"

"Someone sharpened my training sword," he said through gritted teeth. Danica gasped then shook her head and continued out of the temple, wasting no time. As they crossed the plaza he saw half a dozen guards escorting Torvar up the stairway to Dragonsreach. It hurt to see it. Hurt to see just how low the Companions had fallen. What in Oblivion had driven Torvar to do such a thing? Vilkas could have killed Edric. It sent cold shivers through him to think of how he nearly had. What he couldn't get was how the Dragonborn had even presented an opportunity to do so. There had been some kind of flash that hadn't registered with Vilkas at the time, and he was at a loss as to what it could have been. Clearly though Torvar had planned this. He must have overheard the Companion talking to Edric in the whelps' quarters yesterday and had gone out and sharpened the training sword. They had never been meant to be sharpened and weren't made of Skyforge steel, but he supposed they could take enough of an edge to make a cut with enough force applied.

He wrestled with the entire baffling mess of things as he followed the healer, directing her to the training yard, where he saw Athis and Njada kneeling next to Edric, who was lying on the ground. The dark elf had a thick, folded pad of cloth pressed to the wound, putting pressure on it. The shield maiden stared angrily at Vilkas, no doubt blaming him for all this. He avoided meeting her eyes, knowing that he did share some of the blame, because he _had_ attacked Edric. It never would have gotten as far as it had without Torvar's intervention, as the Dragonborn had been a second away from blasting him, but attack him he had.

He stayed out of the way as Danica worked with the Dunmer's assistance, cutting away the leg of Edric's leather pants. He glanced at the Dragonborn's face and felt a jolt of fear go through him to find the man staring at him, his eyes cold as death. Vilkas' eyes slid away as his face flushed guiltily. Divines help him, Farkas was going to go wild. Farkas was going to completely lose it, and it was anyone's guess if he would go after Vilkas or Torvar first.

Edric bit off a curse and when Vilkas looked down Danica was stitching up the wound. It was maybe three inches across but not as deep as he had feared. Edric's eyes squeezed shut and to Vilkas' surprise Njada took his hand, giving him something to grab onto. There was no intimacy in the grip, something any shield-sibling would do for another.

Athis stood, his blood-red eyes fixing on the Companion expressionlessly as he asked flatly, "What happened?"

"Torvar sharpened my training blade at some point overnight," Vilkas replied in a lowered voice. "The guards are taking him up to the Dragonsreach dungeon for Vignar to deal with." He picked up the sword and felt sick to see that the tip and the first few inches had indeed been sharpened, then rubbed with soot to get rid of any tell-tale gleam. What made him even sicker was the sight of Edric's blood on the blade.

"That explains the leg, so what about the lump on his head?" When Vilkas didn't answer, the elf muttered, "Maybe they should've taken you up there as well," and walked away.

Vilkas couldn't help thinking the mer was right. He propped the sword against the stone wall then folded his arms and hunched over as he looked down at Edric again. Danica's touch was sure, her stitches with the fine silk thread neat and tidy. The silk was expensive, having to be harvested from frostbite spiders, something few had the stomach or expertise for. It was an easy enough task to cut off the venom glands, but to get to the silk you had to slice into the back end of a spider which was highly unpleasant, and then you had to identify the correct silk gland, as the beasts spun different kinds of silk for each type of webbing they used. Even then, the glands had to be used within a couple days or the liquid began to break down, and it took some skill to extrude the liquid onto a frame to dry into thread. It was something Vilkas would find fascinating if it wasn't utterly disgusting.

He asked the healer, "Was the cut bad?"

"Quarter inch deeper and there would have been little I could do other than pray for Divine intervention," Danica stated as she worked. "Even if foul play was not involved, a hard enough blunt strike to that artery can sometimes cause delayed death. You Companions should be training in full armor, but then I have told you that many a time, haven't I?"

"Aye."

She poked Edric in his other leg, making him flinch. "I hope you learned your lesson, lad," she scolded. "You are a fool to get anywhere near weapons in leather. Leather is just another layer of thick skin, and what good is that? You cannot heal magically and you will get killed if you aren't more careful. Get that through your thick skull." He nodded, his eyes still closed.

Vilkas heard soft footsteps then Athis was coming back. The elf's expression was full of restrained anger as he held up something between his fingers, and Vilkas went to meet him halfway. "Recognize this?" Athis muttered.

It was ivory, Vilkas could tell that much, flat on the back, the rounded top carved with flowers and birds. He realized it matched Edric's comb but had no idea what it was. Athis undid the tiny gold latch and opened it then let out a soft, regretful obscenity and shook his head. With a twinge of sorrow Vilkas looked at the broken mirror inside. Glass mirrors were expensive, but a flat, clear mirror such as this was priceless, and what was more it had been part of Farkas' birthday gift to his lover. The sun flashed off the fragments and the Companion closed his eyes briefly in dismay. So that was what Torvar had done to throw Edric off. He was a dead man. It didn't matter that Torvar was a Jarl's son, Farkas was going to kill him when he found out all this. Vilkas might get lucky and just get a severe thrashing over it, but Torvar was living on borrowed time.

"Farkas is going to murder him," Athis said with utter confidence as he closed the compact. The mer kept hold of it and added, "If the whelp doesn't make it there first."

"Aye," Vilkas whispered.

As Danica finished up she said to no one in particular, "I need things to wash up with. Water, soap, drying cloths. Then we'll get him inside."

"I'll get it," Athis offered.

The elf left the area, taking the compact with him and sliding it into a belt pouch. Vilkas assumed by his actions that he was going to be the one to deal with telling either Edric or Farkas about the mirror, and the Companion couldn't guess which one would be more pissed off. The mirror was irreplaceable. How Farkas had managed to afford the comb and mirror was beyond Vilkas, but it had been a princely gift, probably one of a kind, an homage to Edric's beauty no doubt, and now it was ruined. There was simply no way Vilkas could think of to fix the mirror, many of the shards too small to glue the entire thing back together. Beyond being furious, Farkas and Edric both would be heartbroken over it, and that was the harder part of it all to bear.

He rubbed his eyes and sighed quietly. Today was yet another sign that the gods had forsaken the Companions, and why wouldn't they? The guild had aligned itself with Daedra in a greedy bid for power centuries ago and continued to pay the price for it. Kodlak was dead, Edric was injured and Torvar was gone. This was pretty much the lowest point in the Companions' history that he could think of, and what was terrifying was that it could get lower yet. The Silver Hand were still out there, and they were down to eight members now. _Eight_. There had been fifteen of them when Kodlak first joined, as the old man had said more than once, an average number for most of the guild's history, and their numbers had dwindled ever since. How in Oblivion were they were going to recover from all this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last thing...do the date headers in the chapters annoy anyone? Or are they helpful at all? I'm starting to find them somewhat restrictive and am considering doing away with them in future chapters. Thank you!
> 
> Dovahzul translations:  
>  _Bormah_ \- Father  
>  _Zu'u fen staavek hi_ \- I will miss you  
>  _Kaan, brud ok sil wah Qoth do Ysgramor_ \- Kyne, carry his soul to the Tomb of Ysgramor  
>  _Arkay, dein mok nol miin do Sivaas Drog_ \- Arkay, keep him from the eyes of the Beast Lord


	26. Chapter 26

**Farkas**

Bone tired and starving, Farkas grabbed the plate Tilma handed him and headed downstairs. The old woman's expression had been tense, unhappy, but she and Kodlak had been close, and the mistress of the hall had always helped keep the Circle's secrets. The guards had all been acting funny, come to think of it, as Farkas made his way through town up to Jorrvaskr, but the whole city was in mourning, and he had been too busy helping the Grey-Manes lug lumber to question anything.

The door to the whelp's quarters was open, and he stuck his head inside to see none of the junior members inside. It wasn't unusual; none of them had jobs they were on as far as he knew unless an emergency had come up, but the Companions often went down to the Bannered Mare for drinks and socializing. That didn't explain why Torvar wasn't around though. The drunk had been ordered to stay inside Jorrvaskr until the Circle could deal with him. Maybe they'd all gotten lucky and he'd run back home to his father.

The doors to the Harbinger's quarters were closed, but his own was cracked open, which was not how he had left it this morning, and he could hear his twin pacing in his room. Frowning, he pushed his door open and was surprised to see Edric lying on his bed, wearing one of Farkas' tunics and apparently little else. He set the plate on the bar, happy to be greeted this way, although the happiness didn't last long. His lover struggled to sit up and Farkas saw the lump on his forehead and how pale he was. Then he saw the bandages wrapped around Edric's right thigh. He went hot all over as he growled a single word. "Who?"

Edric said in a faltering voice, "It's a bit complica—"

"Was it my brother?" he ground out. When Edric hesitated Farkas snarled in fury and threw his pack down before spinning around and going to his brother's door.

"Farkas, wait! I…damn it!"

The rustling then stumbling behind him didn't really register, his only thought to get his hands around his twin's neck. He heard a whining sound of anxiety on the other side of the door, and when he tried to open it the door was bolted shut. "Open the fucking door, coward!" he bellowed, pounding on it.

"Damn it Farkas," Edric said breathlessly, hopping on one leg towards him. "Will you listen to me? It wasn't all him."

"I don't care! I warned him about laying hands on you. I told him _never_ to touch you, and then he does this?"

"It isn't what you think—"

"Stop defending him!" Edric reached out to touch his arm but Farkas smacked his hand away, and his lover instantly stiffened and drew himself up, his expression changing to bewildered anger as he cradled his hand. "I'm sorry!" the warrior whispered quickly, his rage evaporating. Hitting his beloved's hand away had been bad enough, but he was still wearing steel gauntlets.

Edric said in a lowered, frosty voice, "You ever, _ever_ do that again and I'm out of here."

"I'm sorry," Farkas repeated in a moan. "I forgot I was wearing…I forgot." He stripped off his gauntlets and quickly knelt down, trying to make himself smaller, feeling like a brute. Edric huffed and looked away, sullen, then he glanced at the Companion out of the corner of his eye. Farkas hesitantly reached for the hand he had smacked and Edric let him take it with a sigh. The warrior gently kissed the red mark then held the hand to his cheek.

Vilkas yelled through the door, "He is not supposed to be up walking around!"

Farkas banged his forearm against the door and barked at his brother, "Shut the fuck up! I'm not done with you!" He grumbled then carefully scooped up his mate, mindful of the wound on his leg and afraid of just how bad it was. Edric put his arms around Farkas' neck and kissed his cheek, sending wild relief through him that he was forgiven. He carried the smaller man into his room then shoved the door shut with his foot. He deposited Edric on the bed then knelt there, saying in a tense voice, "Tell me what happened, and don't you protect him, Edie. Don't you dare."

"This was Torvar's fault," Edric stated as he scooted back to sit against the wall.

"What!" he gasped. "Torvar attacked you?"

"No, just…" His mate held up his hands and tiredly said, "Just let me get it out, all right?" Farkas nodded, his lips clamped into a thin line as he waited. Edric began, "Yesterday, after the old man died, Vilkas followed me to the dorm. The whelps' room. He had a bug up his ass and was looking to pick a fight, but I talked him out of it and offered to spar with him today." Farkas' eyes narrowed but he stayed silent. Edric continued, "It would have been fine, if Torvar hadn't been out there. The asshole came outside a couple minutes after I did and sat on the edge of the porch, near the steps. I figured he was just getting some sun or something. Everything went fine with Vilkas for a while, then I could see him start getting edgy. He was unsatisfied with the fight, I could tell. I think he figured out it was just my way of keeping him out of trouble and out of Skjor's hair. Still, I had everything under control until something shined in my eyes. It blinded me for a second, and when I covered my eyes Vilkas swung at me. It still wouldn't have been that bad but Torvar had sharpened the training sword."

Farkas shuddered as terror stabbed at him. "You could've been killed," he whispered tremulously. He wasn't a smart man, or half the field medic Vilkas was, but even he knew that cutting deep into the thigh could make someone bleed out quickly. And Edric couldn't heal. His mate would have bled to death and probably nothing could have saved him. Farkas hadn't dreamed that Torvar hated Edric that much. Or that he resented the rest of the Companions enough to make Vilkas the tool of his revenge.

"Yes, I could have. Torvar is being held in Vignar's dungeon on charges of attempted murder. Vilkas chased after him and made sure he was arrested, or Torvar would have gotten away." He laid down on his left side and added, "Gotten away until I got back on my feet and went after him, that is. The fucker used my mirror to blind me, but..." He closed his eyes and added in a mournful tone, "He broke the mirror you gave me and there's no way to fix it."

"He broke it?" the big warrior breathed in dismay. Edric didn't answer, staring past Farkas with a miserable expression, his eyes shining. "Bad?"

"The case is still in one piece, but the glass is shattered. Athis brought it to me. He and Njada brought me here, then he stayed behind to help me change out of my armor. And talk." Edric sighed and scratched his leg under the edge of the bandage. "He knows. Who I am."

"Well shit." The elf was smart, probably the smartest person here other than Vilkas before Edric came along, and gods knew he'd always had more sense than pretty much everyone around here.

"It's okay. He didn't care. He said he respected that I haven't played on it around here. I told him everyone knows except Torvar and Njada, and maybe…maybe there's no point in hiding it from anyone anymore."

"Anyone? Like…everyone?" Edric shrugged, still looking past him. Farkas started removing his armor and asked, "How did the elf figure it out?"

His mate shrugged again and answered, "Lined everything up, the way Vilkas did. Times, places. My devotion to Kynareth. He has kin in Riften who work at the meadery. They told him about the face sculptor, how she was working on someone down there this summer and they heard the screams, then she took her new-found wealth and disappeared. The thieves didn't rat me out, good thing for them or I'd be paying them a visit."

Screams. Gods he hated hearing that. He hadn't realized there was screaming involved in Edric getting healed. He wasn't sure what had been involved period, and wasn't sure he wanted to know now that he'd heard this. "Does he know everything?" As in Edric's parentage.

"No, and I plan to keep it that way." He shifted in the bed, trying to get comfortable. "Ria's different than the other two. Njada and Athis are satisfied with being shield-siblings, but Ria wanted more. She wanted to be my friend, not knowing who I was." He stroked Farkas' cheek and murmured, "Kind of how you loved me before you knew who I was."

Farkas sighed and leaned down to kiss him and Edric put his arm around the bigger man's neck and drew him closer. "I do love you," he murmured against his mate's mouth, then he pulled back enough to look at the goose egg on Edric's forehead. "So what did this?"

"Vilkas grabbed my hair and slammed my face into a rock wall." The casual way it was stated was somehow worse than if Edric was angry or upset. Farkas growled furiously and began pulling away, but Edric kept his arm around his neck and pulled him back. "No, love," Edric gently ordered, his voice velvet over steel. "Not right now. Let him sweat a little longer."

"You're just saying that to keep me from beating the shit out of him," Farkas grumbled. Edric didn't deny it but kept hold of him, and to get out of it the warrior would have to break free, and he wasn't about to do that. He scowled at the wounds on his lover and stayed put, hating how Edric looked right now. He knew Vilkas had issues with Edric's hair. With Edric's manner in general. It was as if Vilkas wanted everything and everyone in tidy little boxes, easily defined. Easy to cope with. His twin seemed unable to come to terms with Farkas' partner being male but having some feminine traits. Vilkas never would have grabbed a woman warrior by the hair and used it against her like that. But then warrior women usually kept their hair a lot shorter.

The younger man loosened his hold a bit and ran his fingers through Farkas' dark hair, asking, "How was the trip to Riverwood and back?"

"Fine, I guess. Nothing happened really. Got the wood. Gerdur says hi."

"Ah."

Farkas noticed Edric's hands trembling and wondered when the last time was he'd had a drink. He struggled with offering to get him one, feeling like he would be an enabler if he did. Which he would be. But if he didn't do it the need for a drink would drive Edric to leave the room and try to get upstairs on a hurt leg, risking opening the wound. His man would find some way to get a drink no matter what Farkas did. He kissed Edric then murmured, "Let me get changed and I'll get you something."

Edric nodded and avoided Farkas' eyes, blushing, clearly embarrassed. Farkas rose and finished taking off his wolf armor while the Dragonborn laid down again on his side and watched him, looking cute in the big shirt, other than the lump on his head and the bandages around his thigh. Edric healed quickly, maybe due to his nature, he'd never said, but it would still take a while for the leg to heal. He knew Skjor wanted Edric in the Circle as soon as possible, once the funeral affairs were all done and over, but Edric couldn't take the blood with that wound there. The violence of that first change might bust it wide open.

Farkas heard Vilkas' door open then his quickly retreating footsteps, and he growled and glared at the door. "He still needs to answer for what he did to you," he said to Edric.

"If it helps any, I zapped him with lightning."

"No. It doesn't."

"He was twitching on the ground like a fish on dry land."

Farkas grunted, "No, still doesn't help." It was actually kind of a horrifying mental image, to tell the truth. His brother deserved a fist. Several fists. The thought of Vilkas being punished with magic however wasn't a comfortable one.

Edric shrugged one shoulder. "Hm. It was satisfying to me. And the only way to get him to let go of my hair." He pulled the braid forward and fiddled with it, murmuring, "Maybe I should cut it."

Unhappy, the Companion stated, "I love your hair." He sighed heavily and added, "But it _is_ dangerous. I guess Vilkas sorta proved that."

"I'll think about it."

Farkas nodded and pulled on some clothes then stacked his armor in its usual spot, along with his sword. It made his heart hurt to think of that beautiful hair getting cut. There was little he liked more than seeing Edric unbind it and comb it out then sinking his own hands into it, watching the light play off the white and honey strands. But it was his lover's hair, and his lover's choice, and Edric couldn't go off to war next year with his hair like that. He shouldn't even be taking jobs with his hair that long. It was totally impractical.

He headed upstairs to get his mate a drink and himself something to eat, enough to share, and he heard voices and the clanking of wood outside the front doors as the funeral bier was built. He heard Vilkas out there and some of his anger with his brother ebbed. At least he was helping. If Edric was the one who had gotten attacked and wasn't eager for revenge then Farkas couldn't exactly stay angry, or at least not as much. What Torvar had done had opened the way for Vilkas to do what he did. Vilkas still would have attacked Edric either way, but Edric wouldn't have gotten hurt and Vilkas would've gotten put in his place.

When he returned he saw Skjor sitting in the corner chair, and when the Harbinger motioned for him to close the door he did so, confused and not a little worried by the unexpected visit. He handed Edric the bottle of mead and the Dragonborn didn't waste any time popping the cork and drinking some of it down. "What's wrong?" Farkas asked the older man as he sat on the bed next to his mate, the plate balanced on his knees.

"Edric tells me that you two are going to fetch the heads for Kodlak when the time comes," Skjor stated without any preamble.

"We talked about it, yeah."

"There's a slight problem. With performing the cure."

The Dragonborn sat up and sighed, "Of course there is."

"You can't get into the Tomb of Ysgramor without Wuuthrad." He paused then added, "A fully restored Wuuthrad."

Farkas said in dismay, "But we only have four pieces."

"Five, actually. Kodlak kept one. I found it in his night stand this morning when I was putting his things in order. I'm going to have Eorlund mount it in a few days." Edric looked angry and upset, and Skjor said with regret, "I'm not sure why he didn't tell you, lad. He didn't speak to me of it either, but he did talk to Eorlund. The smith was the one who told me." The Harbinger leaned forward, his elbows on his knees as he looked at his hands. "I know he forced a promise out of you to leave the Silver Hand alone, however the bastards have some of the pieces. Aela and I haven't been simply harassing them. We've been trying to get those pieces from them, but the two of us can only do so much." He lifted his gaze, the single silver eye fixing on the Dragonborn. "Maybe that's why he didn't tell you. He knew you'd be reluctant to make that promise if you knew."

Edric shook his head and stated, "I can't help you, even knowing this. I swore to him I wouldn't go anywhere near the Silver Hand as long as they left the Companions as a whole alone. I can't help."

"I can," Farkas offered, his voice solemn. As expected, this got him a look of mild surprise from Skjor and a long stare from Edric.

His mate finally said with worry, "I don't really want you doing it either. They wouldn't just kill you, Farkas. I've seen what they do to captive werewolves. It's vicious and sadistic what they do."

"I know, honey, but what else can we do?" He suddenly realized what he'd called Edric in front of the Harbinger, but Skjor's expression didn't change. Farkas went on, "It doesn't do us any good to go after the heads if we don't have any way to use them, and…well, they'll only keep so long."

"I can use magic to keep them frozen," Edric said without concern.

"Okay, that's great. Disgusting, but…okay. It still doesn't change that it could take us years to track down the rest of the pieces. The Silver Hand needs to be dealt with anyway. If I help Skjor and Aela maybe we can solve both problems at the same time." Edric frowned, chewing at his bottom lip, that certain expression on his face that told Farkas it was more than normal reluctance. "Shouldn't I? Help?" His partner's gaze slid over to Skjor, resting on the older man, and the Harbinger stared back.

Farkas left Edric alone to mull things over, and shockingly enough so did Skjor, then the Dragonborn finally said to the one-eyed warrior in a quiet, fatalistic tone, "You do realize this business will be the death of you."

"Ah," Skjor said with a nod and a smirk, sitting back in the chair to fold his arms. "Have to love the Whitemanes. Your father already had this out with me a dozen times, whelp. You know he did. Maybe this _will_ be the death of me. So what?"

Edric shrugged. "Just putting it out there."

"It's out there. Believe me, it was put out there long before you showed up."

Edric shrugged again. "All right." He folded his arms as well. "Can you at least swear you won't keep going after them alone, you and Aela?" The Harbinger narrowed his single eye, and the Dragonborn said with an eerie calm, "It's sort of a now-or-later proposition. Keep harassing the Silver Hand alone and die that way, probably horribly and much too soon, or you three, or four preferably, do this the right way and go in _together_ and wipe out every camp of theirs that you find." When Skjor didn't answer right away Edric added, "It seems a small thing to ask."

"It seems you're not asking."

"I shouldn't have to ask you to do something that will save your own hide, or at least preserve it a bit longer. What do you think it would do to the Companions to lose two Harbingers back to back? If you have no care for yourself, think of that at least."

Skjor snorted then broke into laughter. "You've got your da's steel in you, pup, that's for certain."

"My father left people to their own devices much too often."

"That's the Harbinger's role here. Advisor, counselor."

"Half measures," Edric said with a roll of his eyes, then took a drink.

"It's our way. It has been for thousands of years."

Farkas watched the two go back and forth and he stayed silent, eating the food off the plate in his lap. It was odd seeing his lover like this, his gaze hard and tone polite but uncompromising. It was easy to forget at times what Edric was, and it made the Companion wonder if the younger man was stifling it, that urge to lead. He remembered Edric talking about his time in the Legion, how he had disliked having much in the way of responsibility for anything, and how once he had taken his first dragon soul it had opened up something in him, had given him drive and made him want more. He had told Farkas it was in the Dragonborn's nature to be in charge, so…did Edric want to be in charge? Or did he just think _someone_ needed to be, as Athis seemed to? After spending a decade in the Legion and three years in the Stormcloaks, it probably seemed natural to want there to be a leader. A chain of command. But that wasn't how the Companions operated. The Circle had authority, but they couldn't make anyone do anything they didn't want to do. Somehow it worked. Though to be honest it hadn't worked so great with Torvar.

When a lull fell in the conversation Farkas asked the Harbinger, "So what's gonna be done about Torvar? He nearly got Edric killed, and what's worse he used my brother to do it." That was basically what the man had done: attempted murder by Vilkas.

"Vignar is sending a rider to Dawnstar first thing in the morning," Skjor answered. "Like it or not, he _is_ the son of a Jarl. At best he'll get banished from Whiterun Hold for the rest of his life; at worst he'll be executed, though it's unlikely."

"Is it?" Edric asked with resentment. "He tried to murder me, in a completely craven way at that. I want his head for it."

"If it was up to me you'd have him on his knees in front of you right now and my own sword in your hand to do the deed, but it isn't up to me. I can weigh in as Harbinger, and I don't doubt that Vignar will ask me to, but the odds of Skald agreeing to his son being executed are slim, and if Vignar goes ahead with it anyway it could mean fighting between our holds."

Edric made a sound of anger and moved to get off the bed, and Farkas put his hand on his uninjured leg and asked with worry, "Where do you think you're going?"

"I'm going to Dragonsreach."

"Like hell you are! You can't go walking around on that leg!"

"Then someone can carry me up there," Edric demanded. "Or I want Vignar and Torvar brought down here. Either way I'm going to have my say before Vignar sends a letter to Skald. He's going to know exactly who his worthless son nearly killed. That asshole is probably sitting up there all smug over the thought that he's going to buy his way out of this, thinking I'm nothing but some lowly Stormcloak grunt, well to Oblivion with that. Let's see what his father thinks of the attempted murder of a Thane of Whiterun and the Dragonborn."

Farkas sighed, "Look, I know you were thinking about getting things out in the open, but do you really want to do it like this?" He knew Edric well enough by now to see the signs that he was getting worked up, and Edric worked up made things happen, and they weren't always good.

"What does it matter how I do it?"

The Companion really didn't have an answer for that, but it never seemed a good idea to do anything in the heat of the moment, and his mate was clearly angry. It wasn't as if Farkas didn't understand why. There was a chance Torvar might get away with nothing but a slap on the wrist for conspiring to commit murder, because he was a Jarl's son, after behaving like an ass towards not only Edric but everyone else for months. Farkas wanted him to pay too. Frankly he wanted him dead, nearly as much as Edric did, but that just wasn't going to happen, so it was no use fussing about it. But the thing was, Edric fussed. He obsessed on things to nearly the same level Vilkas did. Maybe worse.

" _FEIM!"_

"Shit!" Farkas yelped as thunder cracked right next to him. By some miracle he managed not to overturn the dinner plate on his knees, and he watched in confusion and annoyance as Edric stood with ease and tested his leg. While transparent. "Shit," he repeated, in a whisper of disbelief. Transparent. He could see right through his lover at Skjor on the other side of the room, the older man rubbing the back of his head where he'd smacked it on the rock wall behind him, his single eye wide with shock.

"Yeah, that'll work," Edric muttered as he walked to the door without a limp. He returned to solid form with a sizzling sound and gritted his teeth against the return of the pain in his leg, then he opened the door.

Skjor leapt to his feet at the same time Farkas did, the Companion setting the plate on the bar. Edric shouted again, a full three words of power, then walked quickly down the hall towards the whelps' quarters. Skjor reached for Edric's shoulder and his hand passed through him as if the Dragonborn were nothing but a spirit. The Harbinger threw up his hands then said to Farkas in irritation, "You deal with him. We don't need this bullshit right now."

"Aye," Farkas muttered, and the older man walked away, back towards the Harbinger's quarters where Kodlak's body still lay, being watched over by Andurs the priest. No, they didn't need this right now, but maybe Edric was latching onto his outrage as a distraction from his grief. And the Dragonborn had every right to be angry. It was one thing to deal with attacks by bandits or enemy soldiers, but when one of your own shield-brothers tried to have you killed, in a coward's way, right on the heels of the death of your father, that was enough to enrage anyone, and Farkas knew quite well the temper his lover had.

He heard that odd sizzling sound again then a grunt of discomfort, and he hurried the rest of the way to see Edric struggling to get out something to wear, his expression tense with pain. He sighed and went to him, gently brushing his hands away and motioning for him to sit. "I'll help, honey," he murmured.

The endearment softened his mate as he had hoped it would, and Edric lowered himself to the bed as he stated in an unhappy tone, "He has to pay, Farkas. I want him to suffer for this."

"I know, but—"

"Vilkas pisses me off to no end, but he isn't sitting around plotting against me in cold blood. He flies off the handle because of his issues, but what happened today is inexcusable. Torvar used Vilkas to try to kill me. That asshole didn't have the courage to do it himself or even slit my throat while I slept. He used Vilkas' instability against him, against me, like a gutless weakling. I want Torvar to know what he nearly did. I want him to know who I am, and I want to be looking into his eyes when he realizes it. I want him to sit in prison waiting for his father and Vignar to pass judgment on him and feel every minute of it."

"Okay," Farkas murmured with a nod. Edric huffed and pulled off the overlarge tunic as the big warrior handed him one of his own. Farkas found him a pair of pants and watched his mate's face. His expression wasn't one of just anger but sadness. Unhappiness. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" the Companion asked quietly, rubbing Edric's knees. It was worse seeing him like this than seeing him angry. He had seen his beloved sad far too often in the short time they had known each other.

"Do you think I should keep who I am quiet? Until I leave next year?"

So that was it. And gods, how it warmed him to be asked what he thought. He wasn't sure he'd ever get used to it. "No, I don't. If you want to do it now then do it, and I'll support you in it, but…I worry it will be a distraction from Kodlak's funeral. Maybe, just go up and talk to Vignar for now, so his letter to Skald will say what you want it to say. It'll take a while for riders to get to Dawnstar and back, long enough to get the funeral stuff over with." Edric nodded slowly, and when he moved to get up Farkas helped him. He held him up on one side to help him get pants on, and once they were on the Companion wrapped his arms around his lover's waist and laid his head on Edric's belly. "You shouldn't have to hide who you are. You did enough of that before, and here you are having to do it again."

"I hate it," the Dragonborn muttered, sinking his hands into Farkas' dark hair. "It's driving me crazy having to live like this, and it's almost worse in a way than before. Not using the Voice…it's hard. It feels like something bubbling inside me constantly. Pressure. Before, I used it all the time but only had to hide my face and my name, but this…this is more _me_ than either of those things. If that makes any sense."

Farkas' nodded, because surprisingly enough it did. He couldn't help feeling deeply relieved to hear all this, and he wondered if maybe _this_ was really at the root of the slight distance that was always there, more than the drinking or the worrying about Kodlak or the problems with Vilkas. He knew Edric loved him dearly, but Farkas had often felt like the other man wasn't one hundred percent connected, and maybe this was why: Edric felt like he was only being half of himself. It was one thing to not use magic, but shouting was part of what Edric was, a huge part of what it meant to be Dragonborn, and stifling that was just wrong.

"And maybe this hasn't been so good for us, either. Our relationship," Edric added in an uncertain tone.

"Yeah," Farkas mumbled in agreement, though with another twinge of relief that Edric was seeing what Farkas had.

Edric whispered, "I'm just so afraid of making you look at me differently."

"Even if I did, it wouldn't be in a worse way. I can get used to things. I _will_ get used to it. I want to. I want you to be yourself and be happy."

"You don't know what you're—"

"Hey," Farkas said gruffly, lifting his head. "Doesn't matter if I do or not. You don't get to decide for me if I can handle it or not." His mate frowned, still looking sad. Farkas got up enough to sit on the edge of Edric's bed, and he pulled the smaller man into his lap, careful of his leg. "You need to have a little faith in me, honey," he stated. Edric put his arm around Farkas' neck, not meeting his eyes, and the Companion continued, "I love you, and maybe I don't really realize yet everything that means, but it's who you are, and what you are, and I want to know what that is. I can't stand the thought of you hiding any part of yourself, from me or anyone else. You shouldn't have to do that." Edric let out a breath and Farkas felt the tension in him ease. "When your leg is better and all this stuff with Kodlak is done, we can go on a job together, you and me. You can shout your head off and use magic all you want."

"Ah Farkas," the younger man said in a warm, wistful tone.

"You tried to show me some before. Magic, I mean. So show me now. Help me out with this." The Dragonborn grimaced and slowly lifted his eyes, and when the Companion nodded in encouragement Edric sighed and leaned his head against Farkas', keeping one arm around his neck as he lifted his right hand. He held it palm up then it began to glow as transparent bright green cubes began to swirl and dance in his palm. Farkas couldn't help fidgeting nervously as he whispered, "What is that?"

"Transmute. It changes mineral ores into a more valuable form. I found this spell not far from here, actually," Edric murmured as he clenched and unclenched his fist, watching the magic dance in his hand. "Years ago, with Lydia. Halted Stream Camp. Seems the bandits that held the place at the time had some pipe dream of making themselves obscenely wealthy by digging up iron and turning it to silver and gold. Unfortunately it seems none of them could read well enough to learn the spell. The tome was sitting right there next to a big pile of iron chunks."

"Wow." Farkas hesitated then slowly reached out, trusting that his lover would warn him if it was dangerous. He touched one of the cubes and felt only the faintest tingle, then he passed his entire hand through. This wasn't so bad. The spinning and tumbling cubes were kind of pretty, actually. "So this changes metals from one kind to another then?"

"Only iron and silver, and only chunks of ore, not ingots or worked metal. Lydia and I tried all kinds of combinations and it only worked from iron to silver, and silver to gold." He laughed sadly and added, "We kind of found out by accident that it works automatically. I had some iron in my pack that I was going to have smelted into steel ingots, so I could repair our armor when needed, and I kept casting the spell on a hunk of moonstone trying to turn it into something else, and my pack kept getting heavier and heavier." The Companion laughed at that, and Edric chuckled. "It was pretty funny, actually. The gold was nice though. Never ran short of coin after that. Never will again." He shook out his hand and the spell died with a fizzle. "It uses up a good amount of magicka, but I've always had a fairly healthy supply of it for a Nord. Mummy said she used to be good at magic, before Bruma. Since then she hasn't been able to focus enough to cast even the simplest spell, or at least that's how I think it is. Sometimes I really do think she got hit on the head." He sighed heavily. "What am I going to do about her, Farkas?"

The question was confusing to say the least, and the sudden change in subject startling. "What do you mean?" Edric rarely talked about his mother, and it was easy to forget at times that she even existed. Farkas had been promised a visit but there had never been a good time. He was pretty sure that Edric didn't really want to introduce his mother to anyone and was procrastinating.

The Dragonborn groaned, "Everything is getting so damned complicated. Keeping my stories straight with her. She knows I'm a Thane of the Rift, but she thinks it's just because of standard, run of the mill stuff. Helping the people, killing bandits and all that. She knows there's a Dragonborn. She knows I got smashed up by a dragon and that was why I didn't see her for so long. Nearly a year. She thinks I was stuck in Markarth recuperating. Every time I send her letters I have to go through this godawful convoluted process to get them to her. Iona has to watch her like a hawk when they leave the house, so no one tries to talk to her about me. I have a friend there, Mjoll, well, a good acquaintance I guess, who helps Iona look after her in town and keeps the rabble away from her. Every time I go to visit I use the back door and only come at night. It's…" He rubbed his forehead then winced as he touched the goose egg and let his hand fall. "Fuck, I'm tired. I'm so fucking tired of all this."

Farkas made a sound of sympathy and hugged Edric close. He felt awful for the other man, but at the same time he couldn't help feeling a guilty thrill that all this was being said. Better a little late than never. It made his heart sing every time Edric confided in him or asked his opinion. Hardly anyone had ever asked him what he thought about something, or what they should do. But Edric always had.

The Companion ventured, "Maybe…maybe you should come clean with her too?"

"Ugh, I don't know. I can never tell how she's going to take something. She might just smile and nod and say 'all right sweetie pie' or she might start wailing and running around the house. And what about when I join the Circle?"

That made Farkas really stop and consider. When Edric took the beast blood his eyes would turn silver. It had always been explained away over the centuries as a side effect of the 'secret ritual' Companions went through to join the Circle. That wouldn't ordinarily be a big deal, if it wasn't for Edric's mother's belief that Whiterun was full of werewolves. If Daina found out that her son was a member of the Companions and his eyes had changed color she might very well figure out that he had become one as well, and from what Edric said there was no telling how she might react. The Dragonborn had always kept her very sheltered and was careful about what he told her.

Farkas finally asked him, "Do you know any spells that can change how you look?" Edric sat up straight, his expression one of surprise. "Just enough to change the color of your eyes, maybe."

"Well, no, but…I've heard of spells like that, in the Illusion school. Maybe I can go up to the College at some point and check around. Discreetly. A lot of people there owe me favors."

"I'm sure a lot of people everywhere owe you favors."

Edric snorted a laugh and nodded, stroking a finger down Farkas' bearded chin. "All the more reason to come out with who I am so I can call them in when needed." He kissed the bigger man soundly then laid his palm against Farkas' cheek. "You're the most sensible person I know, _miingi_."

The Companion chuckled quietly and said in a bashful tone, "I don't know about that." Edric kissed him again, more deeply, and he huffed in frustration at the inability to do anything about it. Not that it was proper anyway, considering they were all in mourning. Edric certainly had a way of distracting himself from things. Farkas pulled back enough to break the kiss without hurting any feelings and ran his fingertips across his mate's brow, looking at the ugly, painful lump there. "I'm still going to kick Vilkas' ass for this," he grumbled. "Doesn't matter that it wouldn't have happened without Torvar involved. It still happened."

"Aye," Edric sighed, nodding. "I think…tomorrow morning I'll cut my hair."

"If you want." It broke Farkas' heart a little to think of all that prettiness being chopped off.

"I want to send some of it with Kodlak," he stated softly, sadly. "I have nothing else, nothing that seems appropriate. Maybe…I'll make a little wreath of hair. With some flowers. Will you help me get some flowers?"

"Yeah," the Companion whispered, blinking against the sting of tears at the sudden heartbroken tone to Edric's voice. It was hard sometimes, keeping up with Edric's moods, but they were nothing like Vilkas'. He had to remind himself that there had been a lot going on lately in his beloved's life and things were sure to even out. He wanted to have at least a few months to spend with Edric without any drama going on before the Dragonborn went off to war. It didn't seem so much to ask. Even if he feared it was.

"The rest I'll give to you," Edric promised. Farkas smiled at him and nodded. The younger man sighed and kissed the Companion's rough cheek then slid off his lap. He tried to stand on his leg then grimaced. "Fuck that hurts," he hissed.

"That shout you did…did that help?"

"Only while it lasted, but the pain came back even worse after, so…not going to work like I thought. Plus I can't really go walking around looking like a spirit. I'll give someone a heart attack." He looked up at Farkas as the Companion stood, then his expression turned reluctant. "Could you…"

"Anything," Farkas whispered. Edric huffed a soft laugh, a look of affectionate wonder on his face, then he made a gurgling sound and wrapped his arms around the bigger man's waist. Farkas sighed wistfully and held him, enjoying the trust and warmth. Every time Edric opened up a little more it gave the Companion hope that everything would be all right. It was hard waiting for their life together to start, but it was worth the wait to have something that was forever, something that felt right.

It took some doing, but once Edric had his boots on he got his mate upstairs with painful slowness. It was going to take all night to get him up to Dragonsreach at this rate, so Farkas did what he had to and took him onto his back, with Edric holding on around his neck and Farkas holding his legs, both of them being careful not to aggravate the wound. As they left Jorrvaskr the big man paused and growled at his twin, "When you least expect it, brother," and was satisfied to see Vilkas cringe before Farkas continued on.

They got plenty of funny looks, and the children always running about town found the sight hysterical and begged for rides of their own. Good to know someone around here was happy. He heard his lover sigh heavily or grumble several times, enjoying this as little as Farkas was. It had to be done though; Edric was determined that Skald know exactly what his son had done. He was sweating by time they made it up to the palace and around the side to the jail; Edric was light for a Nord, but it was still a lot of weight to carry up a long flight of stairs.

"Hail Companions," Sinmir said with a nod, rising from the desk. "I'm afraid I can't let you in to see Torvar. Jarl's orders."

The Guard Captain didn't have his ever-present helmet on, something that always surprised Farkas. He was fairly certain that most of the city didn't even know what the man looked like. The Companion never expected him to be bald. And yet he always was.

Edric lifted his chin and said, "Then I respectfully request the Jarl's presence, so that we can talk about what's going to be done with him."

Sinmir's eyes narrowed and he said in muted disbelief, "You want me to fetch Jarl Vignar for you."

"Yes. Please."

"The Jarl of this hold."

"Mm-hm."

"On your sayso."

"Yeah, that's what I said."

The man folded his arms. "No. I don't care if you're a Companion or not, I'm not at your beck and call, boy, and neither is the Jarl."

Farkas watched Edric's lips purse as he stared at Sinmir, who was completely uncowed by the shorter, slighter man. He felt a flutter of alarm as his mate folded his arms as well, his gaze turning cold.

"Yes, you are at my beck and call," Edric said quietly. "I am a Thane of his hold, and I am going to request one last time that you tell Vignar I'm here to speak to him about the prisoner."

Sinmir barked out a laugh and looked Edric up and down, and Farkas felt a twinge of dread. There were no other guards in this part of the jail, though he could hear one patrolling further inside. Farkas mumbled, "Uh, Edric, maybe this isn't the best way to go about this." Laughing at the Dragonborn was probably the worst thing Sinmir could have done, though he had no way of knowing who Edric really was. Farkas had to sympathize with his mate, who had probably been well-used to going about Skyrim getting his way with little effort, once upon a time.

The Captain patted Edric on top of the head and said in a drawl, "Poor little guy knocked his noggin too hard, eh?"

Farkas looked between the two, and he gasped as Edric drew in a breath, with that particular sound that he now realized was preparation for a shout. He moved and clamped his hand down over his mate's mouth and growled, "Don't do it. This isn't how to do it." Edric grumbled, his body tense, but didn't fight it, letting the breath back out in a rush. The Companion slowly took his hand away and glared at the younger man in warning.

"I won't be patronized," Edric said through gritted teeth, his eyes glittering angrily as he stared up at the blond-bearded Nord in front of him. "I won't be disrespected."

"Well what do you expect?" Farkas said in exasperation. "He doesn't know who you are."

Sinmir made a scoffing sound and said to the Companion, "You really expect me to believe that this whelp is a Thane of Whiterun? There are only two Thanes in this hold: Rorik of Rorikstead and the Dragonborn. And you're no Dragonborn, lad."

"Shit," Farkas whispered as Edric's expression hardened. He was starting to regret bringing his man up here. He had thought it safe with Edric in a relatively decent mood, but that could change as quickly as the weather. Having to be carted through town via piggyback then getting mocked by the Captain of the Hold guard was guaranteed to put the younger man in a foul mood, plus being nearly murdered this morning and Kodlak dying yesterday, and adding the pain of his leg to it all it was pretty easy to guess how things would turn out. Farkas looked at Sinmir and said, "I'll go get Vignar, all right?"

Edric made a slight coughing sound, not quite a clearing of the throat, and he kept his eyes on the blond Nord as he said in a soft rumble, "No, I want Sinmir to do it."

The Companion shivered as the thu'um rolled around them. Well, he had to get used to it at some point. It seemed easy enough for Edric to not use it, but Farkas had to wonder if it was really the Dragonborn's natural voice. He hadn't seemed to have bothered suppressing it back when he was hiding his name and appearance all the time, though he surely did when visiting his mother. He knew Edric could be a lot louder than this if he wanted to be. Farkas had to pity Sinmir, who had gone white as a fish's belly and had taken a step back, his eyes wild.

Sinmir whispered, "No."

"Yes. Get Vignar. _Please_ ," Edric added in a sour tone. "And I don't want a single word of it spilled to anyone. It will be by my doing or not at all." Sinmir stared at him in disbelief, as if he couldn't accept it, like his mind couldn't come to grips with the fact that the Dragonborn was standing right in front of him, and was one of the Companions' whelps at that. When Sinmir didn't move Edric demanded sharply, _"Ofaal Bronjun, Ruveyzun. Nu."_ The blond Nord whimpered and fled.

Edric closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and Farkas whispered in dismay, "What did you say to him?"

The Dragonborn shrugged. "Told him to go get the Jarl." Another shrug as he opened his eyes. "He didn't understand a word of it anyway." Farkas frowned at him, and Edric's expression turned forlorn, then he cleared his throat and looked away. "Sorry," he whispered.

The Companion shook his head and moved close, putting his arm around Edric's shoulders. "It's been a hard day, love," he said in a kindly tone. "Come on and get off your leg while we wait." Edric didn't move, looking unhappy again, and he added, "It's okay. Whatever it is." The Dragonborn still didn't move, and Farkas sighed and let go of him to bring him a chair. He put it directly behind his lover and ordered, "Sit." Edric woodenly did so then scratched at his leg where the edges of the bandage were. His man wouldn't look at him, and he assured him, "I'm not upset or mad at you."

"Good, because you'd have no reason to be." The thu'um was gone from his voice.

The tart answer made him purse his lips then he slowly replied, "Okay."

"Sinmir is going to fucking respect me."

"After this he will." He came around where he could see his mate's face, and Edric had his eyes closed and his fists clenched on his thighs. Farkas knelt down and laid his hand on Edric's knee. "Just a few more days," he pleaded softly. "This is Kodlak's time." The other man nodded, his eyes still closed. Farkas went on in a wary tone, "I think, after today, you and Vilkas need to stay away from each other. Far away. You see him coming towards you, you ignore him, and if he won't leave you alone then… then you're going to have to shout at him or…or I guess zap him or something. I don't care how reasonable it looks like he's being. Don't even try being nice to him for my sake anymore. Ignore him and keep him away."

"Aye love," Edric murmured with a nod.

"I can't stand the thought of losing you," he stressed. "And over something so…wrong. Because of my brother. Even if this wasn't totally his fault, I would've hated him the rest of my life for it. Kodlak warned me of that. That someday Vilkas might make me hate him. I don't want to hate my brother."

"I don't want you to either."

"But I _am_ going to punch him."

"Good. Because if I do it I just might end up killing him, Farkas."

The Companion did his best to not shiver in fear at the cold, matter-of-fact delivery of that statement. He wasn't afraid _of_ Edric, but he feared what Edric could do. The Dragonborn was inhumanly strong, even as little as he was, and if he got angry enough, and hit someone hard enough, he could kill them. Even a normal man could. Edric's anger was even more terrifying than Vilkas', because Vilkas could be snapped out of it by scaring him enough. Farkas had no idea if Edric was even frightened of anything. What could he possibly be scared of? He disliked facing some things, emotional things, and he detested spiders, sure, but after all he had been through no physical danger frightened him. Vilkas certainly didn't scare him. If Vilkas was fully sane he would have realized it should be the other way around.

Edric opened his eyes and they fastened on Farkas intently as he went on, "I yielded and he denied me and said I should be put in my place. My _place_. I'm the fucking Dragonborn and Thane of his hold. _He_ is the one who needs to learn his place, and if he doesn't learn it there will be a great deal of pain in his future."

"Aye," Farkas said with a nod, and thankfully his lover let it go at that. Edric drew in a long breath then blew it out slowly and looked away. "Are you okay?"

"Fine. Just…frustrated," the younger man muttered. "This thing with Torvar and Vilkas, then Sinmir? I thought I would be okay with this. Coming here and being a newblood then going on my way again, keeping everything under wraps so no one bothered me. Before, going around in full armor with a mask or helmet on and letting my voice go kept people at a distance. It was intimidating, I guess. I don't have that now. Now everyone will look at me and think 'Aw, isn't he a cute little Dragonborn.'" He made a patronizing _bu bu bu_ sound then huffed and sank in on himself.

Farkas bit his lip, trying not to laugh, afraid it would make Edric even more irritable, and when his partner looked at him with a pouting expression he couldn't help a little snort escaping. The other man made a sputtering sound of offense and crossed his arms. "I can't help it," Farkas said in an apologetic tone. "You are cute, honey. You're the cutest thing I've ever seen." He knew it wasn't right, thinking that about a grown man, a warrior, especially someone who had done all the things the Dragonborn had, but sometimes when Edric was fussing like this Farkas wanted to pick him up and squeeze him until he popped.

"It's fine if _you_ think I'm cute, but not anyone else," Edric groused. "I'm not that small, damn it. In the Legion I was just as tall as everyone else except the other Nords. I'm sick of people underestimating me and disrespecting me around here because of my size."

His lover's protests just made him that much more adorable, but Farkas kept it to himself. "Sinmir will respect you from now on, and so will everyone else once they know who you are. We'll get Kodlak put to rest, his body anyway, and your leg healed up then we'll go do some jobs, just you and me. You'll join the Circle and we'll get your drinking dealt with. And when you come back from the war we can buy Breezehome and get married."

Edric's irritation melted away at that, and he smiled sadly at Farkas and took his hand and held it in both his. He kissed the bigger man's knuckles one by one then held that hand in his lap, rubbing his thumb across the back of it, as if petting the dark hair there. "I want us to at least get betrothed before I go," the Dragonborn quietly said. "I want us to pledge our troth in public, so everyone knows. I don't want to hide it like Ralof and I did."

Farkas nodded, reaching up with the other hand to brush away the loose hairs that always seemed to work their way free of the braid. He ran his fingertips down the side of his lover's face, marveling at the downy skin as he always did. Edric smiled and leaned his cheek into Farkas' palm, and the bigger man sighed and stared helplessly, unable to look away. It seemed impossible that Ralof had loved someone like this enough to marry him but not enough to want him the way Farkas did. He knew people couldn't help which way they went, but he found his man so beautiful that it seemed to him that everyone else should just as much. Edric had kept his hair closely shorn before this summer but that didn't change the loveliness of his face except in the way it was framed.

The scuffing of the guard's boots made Farkas drop his hand, though he kept hold of the other one. The man looked startled to see the two of them, which the Companion frankly thought was kind of sloppy. Sinmir had always complained about the lack of security in Whiterun while Caius had run things, and here he had a single guard on watch. Granted, they weren't at war anymore, and hadn't been for a year, but it was still pathetic.

Sinmir quickly returned with the elderly Jarl on his heels, accompanied by his niece and housecarl Olfina. You'd never know to look at her what a strong warrior she was, the gray-haired woman slender, but she wore her Skyforge steel plate with ease and moved with the grace of a Khajiit when she fought. She would have made a fine Companion herself if she'd had the mind to join.

The Captain motioned to the guard and said, "You. Wait outside." The man blinked in shock then drew in a breath to protest, and Sinmir snapped, "Now. No lollygagging." The guard scuttled out. Sinmir cleared his throat, looking down at Edric without quite looking at him. "I uh…Kyne's breath," he stammered, as if unable to come up with the words to say.

"Yes. I am," Edric stated in a casual manner. His gaze shifted to Vignar and he inclined his head. "My Jarl. Thank you for coming."

The old man snorted a laugh as he stroked his mustache, saying, "It's not every day I get to see Sinmir ready to piss himself." He nodded with his chin towards the cells beyond. "So. Torvar."

"I want his head."

"Oh, I don't doubt that, lad. I don't think you'll get more than weregild, but we can try."

Farkas felt Edric's hand tighten on his as the younger man's body went as taut as a bowstring. He returned the pressure, trying to avert disaster, and his lover took a slow, deep breath, his eyes burning with anger as he stared up at Vignar. The old man seemed unfazed by it, on the surface, but Farkas could see the Jarl's pulse speed up in the hollow of his wrinkled throat.

"And just how much is my life worth?" Edric retorted. "A Jarl's life is worth twenty thousand septims, the High King's thirty, if the killer's life isn't forfeit. How much blood money is the Dragonborn's life worth? How much is Nirn's savior worth?"

Vignar frowned deeply and his bright eyes moved to Farkas, who couldn't keep how unsettled he was off his face. Edric had told him all about Sovngarde, about Alduin, about that power-crazed Miraak on Solstheim, had told him anything him wanted to know, but seeing his mate so casually talk to someone else about any of it was kind of spooky.

The Jarl said, "I'd give his life to you if it was mine to give. Skald is one of Ulfric's strongest supporters, no matter how much of a fool he is, and he'll never agree to Torvar's execution."

A tremor of fury went through Edric as he demanded, "I want that fucker's head, Vignar." Thunder echoed in the statement and Sinmir backed up a step while Vignar's eyes narrowed and Olfina moved closer to her uncle.

"And I cannot give it to you, Dovahkiin," the Jarl stated in an uneven voice.

"By law his life belongs to me!" Edric shouted as he shot to his feet.

They all flinched back as the walls rattled and dust drifted down from the ceiling, and Farkas rose as well and tentatively put a hand on Edric's shoulder, fully expecting it to be shaken off, though it wasn't. "Edie honey," he whispered urgently. He'd never seen his mate so furious, and it was terrifying. There were whimpering sounds of terror coming from back in the jail, and Edric's head swiveled like a hunting hound to home in on it. Farkas grabbed his mate's shoulders hard and demanded, "Stop, now." If he let Edric go then gods only knew what he would do, angry as he was, and it might be something he couldn't take back.

"No Jarl is above the law, so why some useless third son?" the Dragonborn countered. He glared hotly at Vignar and went on, "If he'd come straight at me and failed, sure, fine, let his father decide his fate. But do you know what he did? He snuck outside overnight and sharpened Vilkas' training sword, knowing we had a match set for the next day. He stole my lover's birthday gift to me, my mirror, and used it to blind me during a fight. He used Vilkas to try to murder me. He broke his vow to his shield-brothers and stained the honor of the Companions, and for what? Because I _embarrassed_ him."

The old man's face turned to stone, and Farkas' long association with the Revered let him see the cold fury there. Of course Vignar hadn't known any of this. Olfina looked ready to march into the jail and put Torvar down herself. Torvar had behaved so completely without honor that no one could ignore it.

After a moment Vignar muttered to Sinmir, "Go." The Captain had enough sense to do as told without question, no doubt understanding that his staying wouldn't do a lick of good as far as protecting his Jarl against Edric, if it came down to it. Once Sinmir was gone Vignar stroked his mustache and stated, "Once a man joins the Companions, he agrees to set aside his former status and put his first loyalty to the guild and his shield-siblings. When he joined the Companions, one could say Torvar made his status as a Jarl's son null and void."

"Aye," Edric answered, then he grimaced in pain and lowered himself back into the chair.

Olfina fetched one for her uncle and brought it over, and Vignar pulled it close and leaned one elbow on his thigh as he looked the Dragonborn in the eye. "You however…" The young man's gaze turned wary, and the Jarl went on, "You're Thane in, what, five holds? Whiterun, Eastmarch, The Rift, The Reach, Hjaalmarch." Edric didn't answer, the question rhetorical. "You did just enough to earn the title then moved on."

The young man said in a tense, slightly mocking tone, "Well, you know, I was a little busy. Fighting a war. Hunting dragons. My selfishness knows no bounds, apparently."

The old man made a cutting motion with one hand. "No, I'm not judging. Divines know what you were doing was more important than kowtowing to Jarls. You probably didn't even want the damn titles." He pointed down at the floor. "But you're _here_ , now. You would have settled in Windhelm if your man had lived, I know that, but he didn't, and now you're here. You joined the Companions, and maybe it was only because of your pa, but the reasons don't matter. You joined, and you've hitched yourself to Farkas here, and you'll be settling here, if you make it back from the south, and as Talos is my witness I have faith that you will. And when you do, and you and Farkas marry, make a home here, you will still be my Thane." He and Edric stared at each other for a long, lingering moment, then Vignar carefully added, "You are here, in my city, and yet where is my Thane? You took oath not to Balgruuf but to this hold, and here you are living in this hold, with plans to stay here permanently, and I'm supposed to ignore that my Thane is living just down the hill, playing the mercenary and shirking his responsibilities?"

Edric's eyes narrowed as he sat back in the chair, his tongue in his cheek and his fists clenched. "I see," he murmured.

"Glad to hear it." The old man leaned back in his own chair and folded his arms.

"I was planning to come out."

Farkas nodded and quickly said, "It's true, he was. I mean he is. Once the funeral stuff is over with."

"Again, I'm glad to hear it," Vignar stated, his eyes still on Edric. "So, this is what I propose, Dovahkiin. Once we've given Kodlak his just dues, you are going to come clean. Frankly I feel your first loyalty should be to this city and this hold, but you're a Companion and for now they need you more than I do. Rorik is doing a fine job holding the west of Whiterun and the east has been quiet enough, so you can keep running jobs for the guild and I won't give you grief over it, but if I need you I expect you to drop what you are doing and answer my call. And after you get back from the south and settle with Farkas, you are going to renounce your titles in the other holds and give your full loyalty to Whiterun."

Edric stared flatly at the Jarl. "You have got to be joking," he muttered.

"Are you or are you not planning to marry Farkas and live in this city?"

"You know I am," he said with resentment.

"Technically no one is supposed to hold titles in more than one hold. It's completely impossible for anyone, even you, to do their duty to that many. You're never at anyone's court. You never reported in for any longer than it took to collect a bounty." When the young man began to seethe again Vignar held up his hands. "No no no. You had more important work to do, I've already admitted that. But surely you can see my problem. You will be settling here, for good. I can't have my own Thane living here and holding titles elsewhere, no matter how tenuous the connection is. It isn't fair to Whiterun, and it isn't fair to the other holds and Jarls."

Edric ground out, "I own property in the other holds. My mother lives in Riften."

"Sell the properties back. Move your mother here."

The Dragonborn groaned and closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead. "She doesn't know," he said in an exhausted, frustrated tone. "Who I am." He let his hands fall and added in helpless sorrow, "She loves that house, and the lake. She loves Iona like a daughter."

"I'm sure we can work something out with Jarl Laila to release you from the title while keeping the property." Vignar leaned forward and gripped Edric's knee. "I _need_ you here, Dragonborn," he said intently, a touch of pleading in his voice. "I wouldn't push you if you weren't planning to make this city your home, but you are. Unless you intend to relinquish your title here?"

"Why would I!" Edric spat.

"You come out with who you are in a few days, once Kodlak's body is put to rest, and you act as my Thane until you go with Ulfric next spring to fight the Dominion. And when you get back, you give up your other titles and devote yourself fully to Whiterun as its Thane, and I will give you Torvar's life, no matter what Skald decides."

Farkas sat back on his heels in shock. Edric didn't seem all that taken aback by the offer, folding his arms to rub his chin with his thumb as he and the Jarl stared at each other. The Companion was completely out of his element during this entire discussion, simply trying to keep up mentally with what was going on. It reminded him all over again how little he knew of his own lover. It would take time to fill in the many gaps, but it was unsettling all the same. Farkas glanced up at Olfina and she met his gaze, lifting a single gray eyebrow as a corner of her mouth twitched wryly. She didn't seem one bit surprised by all this, but she was probably fully involved in her wily old uncle's scheming to get the Dragonborn's full loyalty.

Into the lingering silence Farkas asked Vignar, "Don't you think Ulfric might have something to say about all this?"

Before the old man could answer Edric muttered, "He knows I'm here, doesn't he." Vignar hesitated and the Dragonborn growled, "Fuck."

Vignar sat back in the chair and stated firmly, "I let him know in no uncertain terms that he needed to leave you alone. He and his people are to stay well away from you and Whiterun until it's time to go to war, and not one day before." He shrugged. "Of course he probably has people here, reporting back to him. He has people everywhere. What should I have done, lad, let it get back to our High King that I knew the Dragonborn was here in my city and I didn't tell him? I've got a lot of leeway with Ulfric, but it only goes so far." He stroked his mustache again and continued with sympathy, "He still grieves over your falling-out, Edric. I don't think he'll ever forgive himself for that, honestly. And maybe he shouldn't. He also grieves that Kodlak was dying, when you barely got to know him." The young man frowned and looked away. "Think on that, why don't you. Your father. I know the situation in the hall, lad. I understand your reasons for hiding as you have, and why you've kept your kinship quiet, but when you get back you should admit to it and take his name. To do him honor. Skyrim should know that Kodlak Whitemane's son was the Dragonborn."

Olfina finally spoke up, saying, "Thane Edric Whitemane. Has a nice ring to it."

Edric rolled his eyes and refused to meet anyone's gaze, fuming. Farkas touched his arm and quietly said, "I'll do whatever you want, however you want to do it."

"I don't really have a choice, do I," Edric pouted.

Vignar said in exasperation, "Come off it, lad. You damn well do have a choice. Ulfric is willing to release you as his Thane. The others will do as Ulfric asks. This is a benefit to you, and you know it. You'll no longer have any obligation to the other holds. You'll get the coin back you spent on the houses, not that you need it, and you can use it to turn Breezehome into a proper Thane's manor for you and Farkas and any little ones you take in, with room for your mother if you decide to go that route. This doesn't have to be so unpleasant. I don't see why it has to be at all."

"I…guess it doesn't," the young man mumbled. He sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead then hissed as he grazed the bump there. Farkas reached up and took his hand, and Edric glanced sideways at him then sighed again, more gently this time, and rubbed his thumb against the Companion's hand. His expression softened, and as he gazed at Farkas he murmured, "Fine, I'll do it." He squeezed his lover's hand. "For you, and Kodlak."

Vignar patted Edric's knee and stated with gruff kindness, "This is for you too, Dragonborn. You've been pulled too many directions for too long. You're still a young man, too young for all the shit that's been piled on you. Ulfric freely admits that. He wants this for you as much as I do."

Edric blew out a long breath and nodded, and Farkas had to resist saying that it wouldn't be a bad thing if his man was the one to make peace with Ulfric. It was generous of the High King to basically let the Dragonborn go, when he would have been within his rights to call him to Windhelm to serve as his own Thane in Eastmarch. Ulfric had to know that there was no way Edric could live in Hjerim, in the place the Dragonborn had bought and refurbished as a marital home for him and Ralof. Living in Windhelm would bring Edric nothing but pain.

But here in Whiterun… Vignar was completely right that it made no sense for Edric to make a home here and not give his full loyalty to Whiterun Hold. The Dragonborn simply couldn't criss-cross Skyrim trying to attend to all his many commitments; this way he would only have the one, and if he had to go hunt a dragon down, because they were still out there, Whiterun was the center of the country and he could travel anywhere from here. This really was the only solution that made any sense, and it really was to Edric's benefit.

Vignar gave Edric's leg a squeeze then sat back again, saying, "The traitorous bastard's life is yours, Dovahkiin. All I ask is that you wait until Skald replies, and if by some chance he doesn't go our way, well, who could blame the Dragonborn for losing his temper and putting the piece of shit down like the oath-breaking dog he is? I certainly wouldn't be able to stop you. Who could?"

"Aye," Edric said with a nod, looking thoughtful. He took in a deep breath then let it out again and met the old man's eye, and when Vignar lifted an eyebrow the Dragonborn nodded again and smiled at him. "I'm your man, my Jarl," he vowed.

Farkas felt a swell of relief as the two men clasped each other's arm and the Revered grinned in satisfaction. It could only be for the good for Edric to give up his other thanedoms, or whatever they were called, because gods knew that was more responsibility than any one person should have, even if those responsibilities were mostly ignored. They were still there, lingering in the back of the mind, maybe, and better gotten rid of. And it meant that Edric was totally serious about staying here in Whiterun, making this a home for real, and not just a place to pass the time as Vilkas accused, though Farkas had never believed that one bit.

Being married to a Thane though…that was a lot to absorb. Well, he knew that was what Edric was, but somehow that seemed a bigger deal than being married to the Dragonborn. Farkas hadn't really considered before now the bigger picture. The attention Edric would start getting once he came out with who he really was. Farkas would be proud to stand at his side as his partner and someday his husband, but by the Nine was this a lot to take in.

Minutes later the Jarl was on his way out and Farkas was helping his mate limp back to speak to Torvar, the blond's fear filling the air of the jail in a way that made the Companion feel alternately irritable and pitying. Torvar never would have done this if he had known who Edric was, but that made it worse, that he thought he could murder anyone and get away with it, no matter how unimportant he thought they were.

Skald's son was huddled on a corner of the bed, his knees drawn up and eyes wide, and the terrified whining sound he made seemed to delight Edric in a way that Farkas didn't find particularly healthy, but then maybe this was just how the Dragonborn was, and how was Farkas to know? He had seen the cold streak in his lover plenty of times before, but there was something frightening in how pleased Edric was by Torvar's terror.

"Well," Edric murmured, moving to grasp the bars then tap his fingernails on them. "Well well well."

"I didn't know!" Torvar squeaked. "I didn't know!"

"And that matters…how, exactly?" He leaned his face between two of the bars, the thu'um making his voice echo eerily off the stone walls. "Think of how famous you would have been, Torvar. _You_ finally being the one to kill me when nothing else could? How proud your father would have been of you. I'll be waiting with bated breath to see his response to Vignar's letter, and you'll be in here dying by inches, wondering how long you have to live, wondering just how I'm going to take your life."

"I didn't know," the blond moaned, the whites of his eyes showing as he began to shake.

"Again, I don't see how that matters. You tried to murder a shield-brother, a fellow Companion. That alone would make you a pariah across all of Skyrim. You would never be able to leave your father's hall again even to take a piss." He stared coldly at the other man as he murmured, "I could make you piss yourself right now, you know. There's a shout that would put such terror into you that your heart might even give out. There's another that could kill you with just three little words, leaving you standing there feeling the life drain out of you like water through a sieve." Torvar whimpered and laid his forehead on his knees, his arms over his head. "Be glad I hold to the Way of the Voice enough to spare you that, dog. Be glad I'm not enough of a dragon to drink your terror like mead."

Frankly Farkas thought that was exactly what Edric was doing, but he wasn't about to draw attention to himself while his lover was in this kind of frightening mood, and Torvar deserved whatever Edric dished out anyway. Maybe if Edric had scared Vilkas this much early on there might have been a lot of trouble avoided. Even Vilkas wasn't so out of his mind that he would lose all sense of self-preservation.

"D-Dovahkiin?" The sound of Sinmir approaching barely took Edric's attention away from his target, and as the Captain approached Farkas could tell that it was taking all his courage to do so. Sinmir cleared his throat and said, "Jarl Vignar…he says…uh, your time is up."

Edric sneered at Torvar and thundered, " _Zu'u fen kuz hin klov, vax!_ " then turned away as the blond cried out and shook like a leaf. The Dragonborn said to Sinmir, "I want him put on a suicide watch. I want him left alone for not even one second. I won't let him steal blood price from me."

"Aye, my Thane," the Captain whispered, nodding. "As you say."

" _Pruzah_."

Edric moved toward Farkas and he put his arm around his mate to help him out of the jail. The spicy smell swirled around him, unusually strong, and the Companion tried to ignore it, tried not to think too hard about what had just happened. He had sworn to his beloved earlier today that nothing would make him change how he felt about Edric for the worse, and he meant it, and by the Nine he was going to get used to this and accept everything his mate was, no matter how scary it was sometimes. That Torvar had gotten off as lightly as this (for now) spoke a great deal of Edric's self-control, because honestly Edric could have simply gone in there and taken the bastard's life with nothing but the Voice, and there wouldn't have been much anyone could do except scold him for it, or try to run him out of the hold, and Farkas couldn't think of a Jarl who would do that, except maybe Skald, and at this point Farkas wasn't so sure that Skald wouldn't hand over his youngest son's life to the Dragonborn to do with as he pleased.

They paused at the low point of the wall overlooking the city, and Jorrvaskr, so that Farkas could get the other man onto his back and home again. Edric looked pale and tired, making Farkas wonder just how much blood his mate had lost that morning. The younger man stared through the wooden stakes atop the wall and Farkas followed his gaze, seeing Avulstein, Eorlund, and Vilkas still constructing the funeral bier below. Even as worn as he looked, Edric seemed restless. Fidgety.

"You okay, love?" the Companion asked quietly.

"Yeah, just…I need to get out, when we can," he whispered. He squeezed his hands into fists then stretched his hands out again. "I feel all…all pent up."

"Because of Torvar?"

"Yeah. Him." He flung his hand towards Jorrvaskr. "All this." His hand flicked towards Dragonsreach. "That." He huffed unhappily and looked up at Farkas, searching the bigger man's eyes, and when he found nothing negative he clucked his tongue and took the Companion's hand. "You're too good to me," Edric muttered. "I'm sorry I put you through this."

Farkas scoffed and replied, "Through what? You'd better not be apologizing for what happened today. Any of it." Edric didn't reply, holding Farkas' hand, and when the Companion tipped up his lover's chin the younger man looked sad. "What's wrong, honey? I thought everything was okay. You got your say in with Torvar and you and Vignar worked things out." Edric's sullen expression deepened as he let go, and Farkas said in realization, "It's the Dragonborn thing, isn't it. You think it bothers me. What you just did. What you are. Your talk with Vignar. You think I can't handle it."

Edric frowned up at him and carefully said, "No, that is not it. Yes, it's 'the Dragonborn thing' but no, I do _not_ think you can't handle it. It's me. I'm what's hard to handle. I'm high-maintenance and spoiled and you shouldn't have to put up with me."

"Well, you're a Thane. Aren't you supposed to be high-maintenance and spoiled?" Instead of Edric being amused his green eyes narrowed as his lips pursed, and Farkas laughed and rubbed him under the chin. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't tease you, but you're just so…"

"Cute? Am I _cute_ to you right now, Farkas?" he growled.

Farkas laughed again then bit his lip as his mate scowled. "Uh, no?" he ventured. He knew he shouldn't find his man so adorable right now, considering what Edric had just done, but damn it all if he didn't. And why shouldn't he think so? It wasn't as if he was scared of his own lover. No matter how furious Edric got, no matter how much his blood was riled, he would never hurt Farkas. The big man believed that with all his soul. Edric's expression softened, and for the first time Farkas was truly grateful that his mate could see into people's hearts the way he did, the way Kodlak always had. He wanted to be the one place that Edric could always look and find what he needed.

"Ah Farkas," he sighed, taking the bigger man's hand again and holding it to his chest. "Sweet Farkas."

"Your Farkas."

"Always."

Farkas smiled at him and Edric gave him a small one back, but it was a smile, and there was more openness in his gaze than had been there before, another little improvement. He kissed Edric's forehead then said, "Come on, let's go home so you can rest. I wouldn't mind a nap myself."

"That sounds nice."

It was harder going down the steps, Farkas afraid he would miss one and end up killing them both. After spending the morning lugging lumber and carrying his lover up and down Dragonreach's steps his entire body was aching, and adding the stress and grief of the last day to it all, he was exhausted. His twin avoided his gaze as they passed and Farkas likewise ignored him, heading straight downstairs and to his room, depositing Edric there then yanking his boots off and collapsing next to him.

"Ah _miingi_ , you poor thing," Edric said with regret.

"Just tired," he muttered, throwing his arm over his eyes.

"Roll over."

Farkas numbly did so, not inclined to argue, and when he felt strong hands slide under his shirt and start kneading his back he let out a long, rumbling sound of pleasure. He somehow found a last reserve of energy to pull his tunic off and toss it aside then flop face down again, and a tender kiss was placed on his shoulder before he felt a thumb on each side of his backbone. Edric pressed down then pushed his thumbs up Farkas' back, making him grunt into the pillow as he felt his spine stretch out.

"Good?"

"Hell yes," the Companion groaned. He couldn't remember the last time he had gotten a back rub, and it had definitely never felt like this. It had never even occurred to him to ask for one, but he'd be damned sure he did after this. He knew Edric was tired and needed to rest, but if the other man was willing Farkas wasn't about to protest. He would be a fool to. His lover's hands sought out every knot and sore spot in his back, moving on to his arms and legs after that. Ah gods, the _legs_. Heaven.

The touch grew light after a time then he felt the comfort of healing magic wrap around him. He didn't have the energy to even grunt in response. He knew he'd drifted off a few times, and when a warm body snuggled up against him as a blanket was pulled over them there was no resisting the sweet pull of sleep. Soft lips pressed against his shoulder as an arm went over him and he heard a whispered _lokaal hi_ against his skin and at that moment everything was perfection, even though he couldn't remember what those words meant. They were good, he knew that much.

* * *

Dovahzul translations:  
_miingi_ \- my honey  
_Ofaal Bronjun, Ruveyzun. Nu._ \- Get (the) Jarl, Captain. Now.  
_Zu'u fen kuz hin klov, vax!_ \- I will have your head, traitor!  
_Pruzah_ \- Good  
_lokaal hi_ \- love you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a long chapter, but it's been a while. All my free time lately has been mentally spent in Thedas, enjoying the hell out of Dragon Age: Inquisition. I went back and played some Skyrim last night and man was that...different. Amazing what just a few years can do with regard to game development. Wow. I can't believe it's been three years since Skyrim came out, and yet I still can't listen to Malukah's version of "The Dragonborn Comes" without getting goosebumps.
> 
> The date headers in the chapters are gone. Just couldn't keep that up, afraid I would end up screwing up continuity somehow. Thanks everyone for continuing to follow along and for the recent Kudos.


	27. Chapter 27

**Vilkas**

The Companion felt his hackles rise as he left the front doors of Jorrvaskr and saw someone bent over Kodlak's bier, kissing the dead man on the forehead. It was an older man, his blondish-brown shoulder-length hair liberally streaked with white, and it had to be a Breton from the waviness of it and the man's slighter stature. He had a cane under one hand and was favoring his right leg, was wearing ridiculously expensive imported wools and silks, and Vilkas had never seen him before in his life and was going to break him in half if he didn't take his hands off the former Harbinger's remains this instant. The rest of the city's populace was arrayed below at a respectful distance, watching, and yet this… _person_ was touching Kodlak with a disgusting familiarity.

The emergence of the rest of the Circle behind him broke his staring at the man's back and he barked, "Hey, you will not touch the—" A sharp elbow to his ribs interrupted him and he growled at his shield-sister, Aela resplendent in the Skyforge steel wolf armor she so rarely wore, her hair neatly braided and face clean of war paint. The man straightened up and turned to look at him, and he sucked in a sharp breath.

Edric glared coldly at him and said, "What was that, wolf? You have something to say to me?"

"Not now," Skjor said in a tense voice. "You two start anything today and I will make sure you both spend the next week living in your own personal pocket of Oblivion."

"Aye, Harbinger," Vilkas muttered. Edric continued glaring at him and Vilkas couldn't look away. He hadn't imagined the little dragon could get any prettier, but Mara help him the man was beauty personified. When his hair had been waist-length it had always been kept pulled back, but now it framed the marred perfection of the Dragonborn's face in soft waves, almost curls. Edric sneered at him, baring his teeth, his green eyes sparking with anger, then a very large and solid armored body inserted itself between them. Vilkas' lips clamped shut as he walked around to the other side of the bier, his face warm, glad for his twin's intervention.

"Uh-uh," Farkas said to his lover. "You promised."

Edric said through gritted teeth, "I should be the one to help carry _Bormahi_ to the fire, and I can't because of him."

"Not now, damn it!" Skjor hissed.

Farkas grunted at the Harbinger then said to the Dragonborn, "I'm sorry honey, but there isn't any way to fix this."

"I can't ever get this back," Edric said with sorrow as he gazed up at Farkas.

The bigger man sighed heavily and nodded, lifting a hand to rub his thumb in the cleft of Edric's chin. "Walk right behind us then," he suggested as the rest of the Companions filed out and he moved to the side of the bier. "Me and Vilkas are taking up the back. Walk with me."

Edric nodded, his knuckles white where his right hand squeezed the handle of the cane. Vilkas' eyes strayed to it, wondering where the Dragonborn had borrowed it from, then his gaze returned to Edric's face, to the unmarred side that was turned to him. It didn't seem possible that a grown man could be that lovely, and yet there he was, standing there in broad daylight, in his best clothes that had come from who knew where, ones fit for a Jarl, trousers of light tan wool that looked too soft and fine to have come from Nordic sheep and a pure white silk shirt overlaid with a light blue tabard embroidered with silver thread.

But that hair…who knew that it would be that wavy? It was that certain color that told you it must have been white-blond when Edric was small, as so many Nord children's was. He must have cut it late the night before or that morning. Vilkas would have mourned the loss of that long braid, knowing he was the cause, if the result wasn't so fetching.

He heard an irritable grumbling sound and quickly lifted his eyes to see his twin glaring at him, his nostrils flared, just about radiating possessiveness. Vilkas blinked and cleared his throat as he turned away. _When you least expect it_. The threat echoed and he knew it was serious. Farkas didn't bluff.

As the Circle moved to carefully pick up the wooden platform between them Vilkas absently realized that the lump on Edric's forehead had gone down, now nothing more than a slightly raised purplish-yellow bruise. It was easier to think about the younger man than it was the task before them. Vilkas' wolfish senses could pick up the first hints of decay from the body and still couldn't quite bring himself to believe it was real. The former Harbinger's body had been rubbed in fragrant oils then wrapped in linen layered with lavender and herbs, but it couldn't completely cover that certain sickly-sweet odor. How anyone could stomach the thought of being buried or entombed and left to rot or mummify was beyond Vilkas. It must have driven Edric to distraction when he visited Ralof's grave, knowing an actual body was down there under the ground. Vilkas thought tradition was all well and good, but that was one part of the old ways he would never understand.

He steered his mind away from it all and focused on what he was doing, feeling a stab of anxiety go through him at the thought of being the one to stumble and cause the bier to tip and the body to fall. He would have to throw himself on the pyre in shame if he let that happen. The Circle maneuvered carefully up the steps to the Skyforge and Vilkas heard the slow tap of Edric's cane behind them, distracting, bringing back the horror of that day in Windhelm and how the Dragonborn had limped across the palace floor and screamed out of a burned ruin of a face.

He knew Edric would be fine in a few days, as quickly as he healed, but seeing him walk with the cane made Vilkas deeply uneasy, knowing he was responsible. It didn't matter that Torvar had set it all in motion; it was Vilkas who had ignored a shield-brother's forfeit. It made the Companion's face burn with humiliation that his lack of control was such a given that Torvar had bet on it in such a way. Torvar had used him to try to murder Edric. As if he had been nothing but a tool, a mad dog to set loose on an adversary.

The Circle gently placed the bier on the Skyforge and the wood instantly began to blacken. Vilkas listened with only half an ear as the ritual words were spoken, his eyes fastened on Kodlak's corpse. The select few who had been chosen to attend came forward with their offerings to send with the soul to Sovngarde, and Vilkas realized with a stab of horrified dismay that he had completely forgotten to bring something. He had been so distracted, so wrapped up in the problems with Edric and Torvar, that it had completely slipped his mind.

"Here." He looked sideways at his brother, and Farkas slipped something into his hand, murmuring, "I thought this might happen. It's okay."

"Thank you," Vilkas whispered, a lump rising in his throat. He opened his hand and saw a tiny carved wooden Wuuthrad there. It was uncanny in its accuracy, down to the little screaming elf face. It seemed a shame to burn something so fantastic. Farkas could always make another, he supposed. He hadn't realized his twin was becoming so skilled at his hobby, and indeed there in Farkas' hands was a small ship, the Jorrvaskr, being placed on the pyre. Edric hobbled forward and reached up to place something on Kodlak's chest, and when Vilkas placed his own gift he saw a wreath there of braided hair with flowers tucked into it. It was all of six inches across, maybe half an inch thick, with sprigs of blue and red mountain flowers adorning it. It was a meaningful funeral gift, Edric sending a piece of himself with Kodlak to Sovngarde. And yet Vilkas couldn't quite bring himself to really find any meaning in all this. The old man wasn't heading to Shor's Hall. Kodlak was stuck in some sort of limbo, if Hircine hadn't yet managed to hunt down his soul.

Numb, he managed not to shudder as the wealth of white hair caught fire, then the shroud, though he did pull his eyes away as Kodlak's skin blackened and crisped. It was the smell more than anything else that he found nearly impossible to bear, his senses being what they were. It wasn't as if he had never smelled burning bodies before, that potent and unmistakable combination of odors, but it had been an impersonal thing those other times. It hadn't been someone he had loved more than anyone but his own brother, someone he had considered immortal before this last year and a half.

Vilkas went along with only a small grunt of protest as his brother reached out and yanked him close. He felt the scratch of beard on his cheek and the press of lips against his temple, and he whined softly in grief and slid his arm around his twin's waist, only to encounter a warm body snug against the other side. He pulled his arm back, his body tense as he fought the sudden hot flush of rage and offense. What right did Edric have to expect comfort at a time like this, or the right to grieve for a man he had barely known? What right did the Dragonborn have to lean on Vilkas' twin, his other half? Why did the Dragonborn have to take Farkas when he could have had anyone else he wanted?

"No," Farkas growled low as his grip tightened on his brother's shoulders. "Don't you fucking dare."

With an effort he stayed still, taking deep breaths to calm himself even if it drew in the stench of the pyre. Just a few more months. The Dragonborn would be gone with the spring, off to fight in Round Two of the same pointless war that had taken nearly an entire generation of Nords including Jergen, not that he had been any great loss. Edric would be no great loss either. Alduin was destroyed and Edric's purpose fulfilled; anything more than that was superfluous.

The mourners began to file away, leaving behind the Companions and the Gray-Manes. Eorlund tended the Skyforge, to keep the fires hot enough to burn the remains completely, taking turns pumping the bellows with Avulstein.

The sound of Skjor talking softly to someone drew Vilkas' attention, and he glanced over to the top of the stairs. At first it didn't register, who the Harbinger was talking to, three cloaked figures, one of them quite a bit shorter than the others, then the shorter one turned and locked eyes with Vilkas. Blood-red eyes. _Irileth_ , he thought in surprise, but the surprise was gone as quickly as it came, as the two Nord men's faces became visible: Balgruuf and Hrongar. Of course they had come to pay their respects to Kodlak. They looked travel-worn, though it was a given that they must have left Solitude days before the old man had actually passed to get here in time.

Vilkas looked the other way towards Vignar, and he and his kin were pointedly ignoring the former Jarl's presence, though without any hard feeling it seemed. It was easy not to have hard feelings when you had come out on top, but the Companion appreciated that Vignar was allowing Balgruuf and his brother the chance to attend the funeral, albeit briefly, for it was a given that the two men and the Dunmer would leave right after this if they knew what was good for them. Balgruuf still had his supporters here, namely the Battle-Borns, but they stood a snowball's chance in Oblivion of ever taking back Whiterun, especially with the Dragonborn here, and the former Jarl was a good man who would never put his home hold through that again. It had to hurt, being here, where he and Hrongar had grown up and could never live again. It had been good of them to come, and the Companion hoped they were allowed to leave peacefully.

Then Vilkas felt a thrill of trepidation as Balgruuf's eyes landed on Edric, and the blond Nord's expression turned furious.

"What is _that_ doing here?" Balgruuf asked in a raised voice. "By what right is that traitor here?"

Skjor whispered urgently to the former Jarl as Irileth and Hrongar glared daggers at Edric, who stared back coldly. Well of course they knew what the Dragonborn looked like. All the Jarls probably did. Why would a Jarl with any brains give a title to a man who wouldn't show his face to them? The four Gray-Manes watched silently, reluctant to contribute to a scene, and Balgruuf listened to Skjor for a moment then made a sound of disgusted capitulation.

Balgruuf sneered at Edric then spit on the ground. "Be glad that I love Whiterun more than I despise you, oath-breaker," he stated.

"I have never gone back on a solemn vow," Edric replied in a flat tone, taking a step away from Farkas. "The oath I took was to this hold, not you."

"You tore Skyrim apart!" Balgruuf shouted, his face turning red.

"Yes, so that it could be put back together stronger—"

"Trite platitudes. It cheapens you to even put it to words. Words you tell yourself so that you can sleep at night, no doubt."

Edric retorted, "I sleep fine, and when I don't it isn't the faces of _Imperial sympathizers_ who haunt my dreams."

Skjor cut in, "All right, enough. I won't have a great man's funeral sullied by bickering."

"Bickering," Balgruuf said with a short laugh. "If only the matter were so petty. You have taken a viper into your ranks, Harbinger. You have given sanctuary to a creature that has the blood of monsters in its veins."

"Hey," Farkas growled. "Maybe you used to be Jarl, but you don't talk to my man like that."

The blond stared at the bigger man for a long moment, then his eyes flicked between Edric and Farkas. He finally said, "With all due respect, Companion, I don't think you realize—"

"You are done here," Vignar said crisply as he came to stand on the other side of Edric. "I made allowances, for the sake of the friendship you once had with Kodlak, and me. You've exhausted my hospitality." He waved his hand at the three. "Get out of my hold. You have two days to make the border."

Balgruuf glared at him, as did Hrongar and Irileth, then the Dunmer woman said to Edric, "You were a part of the Legion once, you and Vignar. A soldier, as Balgruuf and I were. You took a vow to defend the Empire."

"There is no more Empire," Edric stated, his voice cold and echoing, giving away how angry he was. "The Empire ceased to exist two hundred years ago. The Empire has turned on or abandoned its provinces time and again since then." He narrowed his eyes at Balgruuf and added in contempt, "If you two are such bleeding patriots, then you would join us when we march south in the spring. But you won't, will you? You talk, and talk, but you don't act. And that's why you no longer rule here."

Balgruuf snorted, shaking his head. "We are all doomed, you know that?" he said tiredly. "You've signed our death warrant. When you destroyed Alduin all you did was buy a little more time."

"No, I don't know that. I'm standing here in front of you in mostly one piece, so no, I don't believe that at all. As long as I draw breath I refuse to believe that."

The older man gazed at him with a weary expression then nodded and gave a short, mocking bow. "Well then, _Dovahkiin_ , Jarl Vignar, we will be on our way and trouble you no further."

"Let's hope you don't," Vignar agreed in irritation. "I extended a courtesy to you and you repaid me by insulting my Thane."

" _Your_ Thane? Is that so? As I recall, I was the one who gave him the title."

"Bitterness doesn't wear well on you, Balgruuf," the old man said with regret. "This could have been different, and lives could have been saved. The moment the Dragonborn brought you Ulfric's ax you should have known which side the gods would favor."

The former Jarl cast one last glare at Edric, full of anger, resentment, disappointment… It was full of a lot of things, none of them good. Vilkas was surprised that Hrongar had kept his mouth shut, as belligerent as the man often was, but rumor had it that he and Elisif were an item, so he had no doubt been ordered in very strong words to stay silent. It hurt to see Balgruuf like this, though. He had been a good Jarl, devoted to his people. Vilkas saw nothing at all wrong with his refusal to choose sides, both of which had their glaring faults. He had to admit though, once the Dragonborn had declared for Ulfric it should have been obvious which way the wind would blow. Nord Legionnaires had defected by the hundreds after that. And yet how easily could it have gone the other way? If Edric hadn't been soured by his experiences in Helgen it very well might have been Ulfric who had gotten his head lopped off instead of Tullius.

Skjor watched Balgruuf and his companions leave, then he slowly turned and looked at the Dragonborn as if debating whether to chide him for his big mouth, but to be fair it had been Balgruuf who started it.

Njada walked up to Edric and punched him hard in the shoulder, making him cry out, and as he rubbed it she spat, "Asshole!" She swung around and socked Athis in the arm as well, making the Dunmer growl and take a swing at her in turn, which she blocked. "You're both assholes," she stated, a surprising amount of hurt in her tone, then she walked away to return to the mead hall.

Edric sighed and called after her, "I was going to tell you," but she gave him the middle finger without looking back and continued down the stairs. "Fucking Balgruuf," he hissed under his breath.

"Let it go, lad," Vignar murmured.

The Companions and the Gray-Manes stood silently as they watched the body burn the rest of the way, and when the pyre fell in upon itself Vilkas heard Edric's breath hitch then a soft, choked sob, and he had to clamp his lips shut to keep in a furious growl as Farkas let go to hold his lover. Why wouldn't he prefer to hold a pretty, crying little thing, after all? It was infuriating, but Vilkas wasn't about to add to the discomfort the way Balgruuf had.

Why should Edric be crying when he had barely known Kodlak? That was something that Vilkas still couldn't come to terms with, how very close the two had grown in the short time Edric had known him. It made Vilkas wonder if the two had corresponded frequently before that, but how could they, when the Dragonborn had been isolated in High Hrothgar then had continued hunting vampires after that, then traveled to Solstheim? When had the two found the time to become even passingly acquainted, let alone come to love each other?

 _At the feast and in the song_  
_Thou shalt be remembered long_  
_'Tis enough, the war gods call_  
_Glory awaits thee in Shor's Hall_

The sound of a clear, sweet male voice raised in song made Vilkas' breath catch, and it was over as soon as it began, like the sudden trilling of a lark, startling but leaving one's ears straining to hear it again. He blinked against tears, his heart aching with the beauty and sorrow of it, hoping there was more, but nothing came. Vilkas squeezed his eyes shut, listening to the crackling of the fire, the sound of bones warping in the intense heat then splintering apart, then there was the soft murmur of the dragon tongue, the cadence that told him Edric was praying. He had never seen anyone who wasn't a priest pray so frequently, but then that was exactly what the Dragonborn had been, during his time with the Greybeards. It made no sense to Vilkas that the man was praying or had sung a funeral song for someone who wasn't at all standing before Tsun and wouldn't be until Edric got his shit together and decided it was time to fetch the heads.

One by one the remaining mourners left, first Athis and Ria, then Vignar and Olfina, finally Farkas and Edric, the Dragonborn slowly limping away, until finally only Eorlund and his son remained to tend the fire while Skjor and Vilkas watched. The Harbinger came to stand by him and he was glad of the company of his forebear. Both men had to cringe a bit when the old smith took up a poker and began breaking up the bones further.

Vilkas quietly began, "So, the cure. You need to light a fire under the Dragonborn's ass or he will take his sweet time getting it." Eorlund knew what the Circle was, but Vilkas wasn't so certain that Avulstein did yet.

"I've already spoken to him about it," Skjor answered in a similarly lowered voice. "There's a problem."

"Right," the Companion sighed. "Of course."

"Ysgramor's tomb is locked. Wuuthrad is the key. The Silver Hand have the rest of the pieces."

"I see," Vilkas grumbled. Well that figured, didn't it? And it went without saying that Edric couldn't go after the witches' heads with nowhere to take them to. Vilkas wasn't so unreasonable that he couldn't see that.

"You want the old man cured, you'll help us get those pieces." Skjor turned sideways to look the taller man in the eye. "No matter how you feel now about the choices you made back then, you are a part of the Circle, part of this pack. Kodlak and Edric both were adamant that we go after the Silver Hand as a pack. The old man saw that continuing to pick away at the hunters would end up getting us killed. Me, specifically. I'm not about to put the Companions through that so soon after losing the old man."

"Aye."

"Are you in?"

"Aye," Vilkas repeated with a nod. "But I will not transform. That has not changed."

"None of us will unless we can help it. We need clear heads for this."

"And what of Edric?"

"He gave Kodlak his word he was staying out of it, even if he does join the Circle. Which he will. We're meeting once his leg heals up."

Vilkas' jaw clenched as he whispered, "I will not give him my vote. I do not care what he is, he will not have it. I will not give my blessing to a decision that will turn him into an animal." Even if Edric had vowed to not take the beastblood, Vilkas wouldn't vote to let him into the Circle. He didn't care if the bastard was Dragonborn, no one deserved to join after less than two months in the guild. It was preposterous. It was also pathetic, that the Companions had sunk this low that their Harbinger was so desperate to get his hooks into a whelp, no matter who he was. Athis should have been brought into the Circle first. The elf had earned it. Edric had not. His deeds outside the Companions should not be any kind of factor.

Skjor shrugged. "Not unexpected. That's fine. But once he joins the pack I expect you to honor him as a brother. After all, once he does it won't be long before he truly is your brother. A mating between our kind is truer than any temple marriage."

"You've been listening to Aela too much," he said in distaste.

"She's our lore keeper. She has also agreed to be Edric's forebear."

The Companion's eyebrows rose in astonishment. "But she's female." Forebears were usually the same gender as the new member of the pack, and usually an older werewolf, one who was experienced and would assume the role of mentor. Between opposite genders such a close tie could easily slide into a deeper bond, one that the Circle had always tried to avoid, not always successfully. Kodlak had been Aela's forebear, as her mother had already died years before, but the age gap there had kept a comfortable distance.

"There is no one else. You won't do it. Farkas shouldn't. I already brought over you two. Edric and Aela are close in age, but for obvious reasons I don't foresee any problems there. Aela considers it an honor, and it is."

"It will not go well," Vilkas warned. "There is no way it can. He is not…" He paused, feeling a chill run over his skin. "Not entirely human," he finished. It was a bit frightening to put it into words, but it was the truth. Edric had the blood and soul of a dragon, and that was that.

"Aela and I have already discussed this, and we will simply have to deal with the matter as it comes, the three of us. Me, Aela, Farkas. If you refuse to change then you'll just have to stay out of the way."

"The change could _kill_ him, damn it," he insisted. "It kills even normal folk once in a while." As soon as the words left his mouth he wondered why he should even care. At least if that happened it would get the man out of the way, before he could bond with Farkas and destroy him.

"And _that_ is why I don't think it will kill him. He isn't normal. Surviving the change is also partly a matter of will, and he has that in spades."

"Yes, so much that he can't control his own drinking," Vilkas stated sourly.

"He's promised he'll quit, after he joins the Circle and things settle. We've all agreed to help Farkas as much as we can in dealing with it. I hope you intend to do the same."

Unable to help feeling hurt, the Companion muttered, "He didn't ask me to help." And how in Oblivion would Vilkas do that anyway? Hold the little darling's hair back while he puked into a bucket?

"Regardless, he's going to need it. Ria's aunt is brewing up a stock of potions to keep Edric mostly sedated while he gets through the worst of it. He nearly killed his housecarl the last time he tried."

"Ah yes, the one that he actually _did_ end up killing, eventually."

Skjor stared at him with his tongue in his cheek then he turned his back on Vilkas, going to talk to Eorlund. The Companion grumbled and rubbed his forehead, feeling like an ass, a not uncommon feeling. He forced himself to leave the Skyforge, now that nothing was left of Kodlak that could be easily recognized as such, and he wasn't about to look for it. There had always been a hint of the supernatural about the forge, but it was still shocking how quickly the remains had been consumed.

Inside Jorrvaskr it was a bustle of activity, though the mood was subdued, as Tilma kindly ordered about the three junior Companions to make preparations for the funeral feast. Edric, Aela and Farkas were nowhere to be seen, probably changing. Vilkas headed downstairs to do the same, wondering if Skjor was even now commissioning a set of wolf armor for Edric. The Dragonborn wasn't exactly Nord-sized, but there had been other members of the Circle in the past who hadn't been Nords. There had even been an elven Harbinger, once, of all things. There were bound to be sets of armor in storage that would fit Edric with only slight alterations.

He shut his door and changed out of his armor so that he could help Tilma. The old woman had overseen far too many of these funeral feasts in the time she had been mistress of the hall, but he hoped it would be her last. Why she refused to retire was beyond him. Or even get some help. Something.

The moment he stepped through his doorway into the hall he felt a fist slug him in the gut out of nowhere, and he doubled over with a groan.

"That's for hurting Edie," Farkas growled. "Lay hands on him again and you're gonna be the one Danica's patching up."

Vilkas leaned against the wall, hugging his middle, nauseous. He heard Farkas walk away along with the tapping of a cane, telling him Edric had watched his lover's retribution. Well, at least the wait for it was over with. Ysmir's beard, his brother could throw a punch, though he knew it hadn't been anywhere near as hard as it could have been, to avoid doing real harm, though Edric had been right there and could have healed him if things went wrong. Handy, that.

After the worst of the pain subsided he dragged himself upright and headed upstairs, his abdomen sore, but he would manage. He could have taken a minor healing potion for it, but no, he deserved this. He saw Athis and Farkas setting a spit full of game birds over the fire pit to roast. The old man had loved grouse, and indeed all the dishes being prepared would be his favorites, in his honor. Edric and Njada were to the side of the kitchen doorway, talking, the shield maiden with her fists on her hips, scowling at him. The sight made Vilkas snort a painful laugh. Njada wasn't called Stonearm for nothing, and the Dragonborn was going to have one hell of a bruise to show for it.

Skjor came in the front door then went to Tilma, kissing her on the forehead with his hands on her shoulders. Vilkas truly believed he would be a good Harbinger, though he had less patience than Kodlak had. The old man had learned patience the hard way, fostering two unruly boys. Well, there were no children in this hall, and no reason there ever would be again. This was no place to raise a child. A good thing that Farkas and Edric would have no worries in that regard.

He blew out a sharp breath, feeling a surge of angry resentment that he clamped down on hard. Not tonight. Not until Edric was gone. And he would be, eventually, if the change didn't kill him, if the day to day dangers of being a Companion didn't end him, before war could.

His twin glared at him as Vilkas went past the fire pit, and he ignored it, though there was no ignoring the ache in his gut. He ignored Edric as well as he went into the kitchen, where Ria had been set to work cutting up potatoes.

The Nibenese girl pointed her knife at the pile of carrots and said, "Tilma said those are yours. She needs them cut into coins to mix with the potatoes. They're already washed."

"Aye," he agreed. He could manage that, and more importantly he could sit while doing it.

Vilkas took the other stool and sat at the work table. Ria didn't make small talk, and he wouldn't have wanted her to do so. There was movement in the doorway and he looked up to see Edric there, a look of concern on his face. He raised his right hand and wiggled his fingers, a soft yellow glow to his palm and an eyebrow raised in question, and Vilkas scowled back and curtly shook his head. He wasn't about to let Farkas' boyfriend surreptitiously heal him. No damn way.

The Dragonborn shrugged and left. Vilkas wanted to hate him for it, for trying to steal this too, a punishment that was much milder than he deserved, or for thinking Vilkas was too weak to bear the pain, but the offer had been made in charity and he knew it. He doubted Edric had wanted Farkas to hit him, after all it wasn't as if Edric wasn't quite capable of taking his own vengeance, and Vilkas very much doubted the Dragonborn would deign to do so. It would be more Edric's style to leave Vilkas hanging, wondering when it would happen. He would take his brother's style of justice any day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dovahzul translation:  
> Bormahi- my father
> 
> The short bit of song Edric sang at the funeral was taken from the poem 'Valkyriur Song' by Felicia Dorothea Browne Hemans, 1823 or thereabouts, so in the public domain. I tweaked it a bit to fit the story. It took a while for me to get back into a Skyrim state of mind as I honestly don't play it or read anything in this fandom anymore other than a small handful of fics that I've been following for a long time, so hopefully it still feels true to that world state. I'm starting on the next chapter right away while I still have the right mindset, and maybe will try to write a bit on the other story as well before Dragon Age takes over my brain again. Cheers!


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although this story is tagged, warnings on this chapter for alcohol withdrawal. It will play a very large part in the next two chapters as well as coming up occasionally through the rest of this story.

**Farkas**

“Calm down,” Skjor murmured.

“He’s going to be pissed,” Farkas stated with anxiety, his skin prickling with sweat. It wasn’t even a warning, really, just a statement of fact. Vilkas was going to lose his shit when he came in and saw the large cage sitting in the corner of the Underforge. Farkas hadn’t had any idea it was there either and couldn’t figure out where Skjor and Aela had found the time to get it in here, but it was easy to guess where it had come from since the faint scent of werewolf still clung to it. No point in looking any further than an abandoned Silver Hand lair if you needed that kind of thing. It was in sections of thick steel bars with a door that had a hefty lock, and from what he could tell it would have taken Eorlund’s assistance to put it back together solid enough to keep a feral werewolf secure in it. He understood why they had done it, after that episode with Torvar and Vilkas. He understood having a backup plan. But it still hurt to see it and know why it was there.

They didn’t have long to wait as the stone door slid open and Vilkas came in, and when he reached the font then saw the cage his eyes went wild. “What the fuck is that!” he roared, pointing at it.

“You know what it is,” Skjor said, unfazed.

“This…this is so uncalled for,” he seethed. “This is completely unwarranted!”

“I’m sure Edric’s leg and forehead would disagree.” Vilkas’ fury shut down at that, and the Harbinger went on, “Let’s consider it a deterrent, brother. I don’t want to see it used any more than you do, and frankly, it’s something we should have had in place all along. It isn’t there specifically for you.”

“Bullshit it isn’t,” Vilkas replied resentfully. “I’m not an idiot.”

Skjor folded his arms and stated, “We have a new brother in the blood joining us tonight. Someone who might not take the change well. Think of it that way.”

“Hey,” Farkas growled, shocked. “You’re not putting my man in a cage! No goddamn way!”

“Let’s hope no one needs to go in the cage.”

Farkas huffed, feeling betrayed, his expression mirroring his brother’s.

He and Vilkas looked at each other, and his twin stated, “This will go poorly, Farkas. Mark my words. You cannot mix wolf blood with a dragon’s. This is your last chance to talk him out of this.”

“This is what he wants,” Farkas said. “It’s what we both want.”

“Then do not come to me for comfort when he goes mad, or dies.”

“Go to you for comfort. That’s really fucking funny, Vilkas.”

Skjor warned, “Don’t start, you two. Just do. Not. Start.”

The twins glared at each other then looked away. Farkas could tell his brother’s feelings were hurt by his comment, but he wasn’t taking it back. Vilkas had thought of nothing but himself since Edric had come to Jorrvaskr, had been nothing but difficult, and after the issue with the rigged fight in the yard Farkas didn’t have any more patience or sympathy. Edric had to come first from now on and that was that. Watching his beloved limp around with a cane for days had been the final straw in all this. Vilkas had behaved himself just fine since the funeral, but only because he had made himself scarce.

The door opened and Aela led Edric in, the Dragonborn blindfolded. He could have just closed his eyes and the Circle relied on his honor, as they had the times Farkas had taken him through here for hunts, but this was how the ceremony went, in case the candidate backed out. Sometimes they did, but he knew Edric wouldn’t. And it wasn’t as if Edric didn’t already know what they were.

A sudden rush of excitement filled him as he realized this was it. This was finally it. His little mate would take the beastblood tonight and they would finally be the same, finally be able to share in the hunt, be able to form a true mating bond. He had asked Skjor if he could be Edric’s forebear, and while he had been disappointed at first he understood why he couldn’t. It wasn’t how that relationship was supposed to work, and Farkas had agreed that he wanted the bond to grow naturally and not be forced by blood. Aela knew more about what they were than Farkas did anyway and would make a better teacher, as far as their history and lore, but Farkas looked forward to teaching Edric other things. How to hunt. How to use their senses. It was going to be great, he just knew it.

Aela led the Dragonborn to the font and set his hands upon it then moved to stand behind him. “I have brought this one to our most sacred place, as a candidate for the Circle,” she stated in the ritualized words. “As his sponsor, I give witness to his worth. Let any who deny it speak now.”

“This is wrong,” Vilkas spat. “We should have put an end to this madness as Kodlak wished!”

She replied, “Kodlak said to give newbloods a choice. He will be given one. We agreed to that.”

“Then take the damned blindfold off. If he is going to be a member of the Circle regardless then there is no point. I do not know why you even bothered to make me show up at this farce if my voice counts for nothing.”

Skjor stated, “Because you’re a member of the Circle, still, even if you don’t act like it.” He motioned to Aela and sighed impatiently. “Take it off. Vilkas has already screwed this six ways to Sundas.”

“Like everything else. Why don’t you just say it.”

“Why don’t you stop making everything about you?” Farkas countered. Aela took off the blindfold and Edric blinked then looked around, and when his eyes lit on the cage they widened. Farkas was starting to smell the first hints of fear coming off him, mixed with spice and alcohol, making him wonder just how much his beloved had drunk right before this in an effort to cope with his anxiety. The younger man swallowed as his hands gripped the edge of the basin, then he looked down at it and paled at the sight of generations of dark stains embedded in the stone. His eyes instantly sought Farkas’ and the big warrior tried to reassure him with a smile, but from the expression on his lover’s face it didn’t seem to be working. It was horrible seeing real fear there when there was so little that Edric was truly afraid of.

Aela put her hands on Edric’s shoulders and gave them a squeeze, murmuring, “It'll be all right, brother. None of us will allow anything to go wrong.”

Vilkas said, “You may not have a say in that. The change is hard at the best of times. The dragon blood will not easily accept this, I’m telling you.”

“That’s the chance I’m willing to take,” Edric stated, his voice shaking only a bit. “This is my choice, no one else’s.”

“Choice, what choice? To live like an animal, always smelling too much, hearing too much, never getting a full night’s sleep, hungering for blood and meat? You have been to Sovngarde, you have seen the glory of the Hall of Valor, have spoken to Ysgramor himself, and still you do this?”

“Yeah, I do. The beastblood doesn’t seem to torment anyone but you, Vilkas, and it’s only because you deny it.” He poked at his own chest. “I _want_ this. I want to smell the scents on Kynareth’s winds. I want to run under the moons and not think about anything but that and the hunt. I want a pack, I want a family that no one can take from me, a love that nothing can take from me. Doing this doesn’t lessen me, it only adds more.”

Vilkas slowly shook his head, his eyes closed, but Farkas felt his heart swell at Edric’s words. They were everything Farkas believed in, wrapped up into a single beautiful package. It was something the two of them had talked about so little, Farkas afraid of swaying him too much. He’d had no idea his lover felt that way about it, not quite like that. No, nothing would ever be able to take them from each other after this, not even death, especially once they bonded. They would be moon-wed then, just like Aela said.

“Exactly so, brother,” Skjor said in a soft, reverent tone. He glanced at Vilkas and said, “You can leave.”

The Companion folded his arms. “No,” he sneered. “I want to watch just how wrong this will go.”

Skjor made a scoffing sound of aggravation and waved his hand at him. “Just stay out of the way,” he demanded. “And when the pack comes together and you can’t handle it, don’t whine to any of us about it.”

Farkas’ twin reared back slightly at that, as if he hadn’t considered that. Now that he was thinking about it, Farkas wasn’t sure when the last time was that Vilkas had even seen any of them change. He hadn’t done so since Aela’s heat last spring, so maybe that had been the last time. Skjor was right that it wouldn’t be easy to watch all four of them take beast form. Pack was family. Maybe with Edric here Aela would want to hunt together more often, since she would be the forebear. Maybe Skjor too, like it used to be when the twins were younger and all four males would roam the plains as a group. Maybe Vilkas would even pull his head out of his ass and rejoin the pack. There was always a chance.

Aela moved away from Edric and he suddenly looked very small and afraid, even if he was the same height as her, and Farkas quickly went to him, putting his arms around him. His mate clung to him like a lifeline, trembling slightly. “It’s okay,” he soothed. “It’ll be over before you know it.” Edric’s eyes moved over to Vilkas, who was leaning back against the rock wall, looking smug. “No, don’t even look at him,” Farkas demanded, turning them both around so that their backs were to his brother. He didn’t exactly want Vilkas seeing Edric naked either. Again. _That_ was something that did worry him; he knew Vilkas was attracted to Edric, and once the Dragonborn took the beast blood his scent would change. He would smell like pack. Well, Vilkas was still going to get his ass kicked if he didn’t stay away from Edric. Farkas wasn’t the smartest man, but he understood that things were going to change between him and his mate. He was sure it would only be in good ways, though.

Skjor and Aela stood together on the opposite side of the font, and the Harbinger said with a note of aggravation, “Much like your initiation into the Companions, this was supposed to go differently. I know this isn’t what the old man wanted for you, but this was your decision to make, not his.”

“I understand,” Edric said with a nod, moving out of Farkas’ arms. He gripped the edge of the font again and took a deep breath then added in a stronger voice, “Let’s do this. No rituals or fancy words. Make me part of the pack.”

Farkas shivered with anticipation and moved close, letting Edric know he was there. Aela had been the last to join, over a decade ago, and she had taken to the blood as if born to it, the transformation the smoothest any of them had ever heard of, and still out of all of the Circle she was the one who changed form most easily. Farkas remembered almost none of the night that he joined. He wasn’t sorry for that. He had taken the blood before Vilkas and from what Kodlak and Skjor had said they had barely been able to keep him from rampaging through Whiterun and had instead forced him out through the Underforge onto the plains where he had run in circles yowling like mad and tearing into anything that had crossed his path. It had taken a good half dozen transformations before he had learned any kind of control, but his beast had seldom troubled him. And then there was Vilkas, who had changed just fine the first time but who had never really accepted what he was.

There was no telling how the blood would sit with Edric, and maybe Vilkas was a little right about that, but Farkas refused to let his twin’s doomsaying get to him. Maybe this would be hard, maybe even harder than usual, but they would get past it. There were three very experienced werewolves here to keep the newborn in line, and honestly how dangerous could Edric be? They all tended to keep some proportion, so Edric really couldn’t be any taller than Aela, though maybe a bit bulkier, and all the males had tackled her a time or two over the years without much problem. Though that had been during that single night in the spring, so really she’d let them. Well, anyway, everything was going to work out fine, even if tonight was a bit rough.

Edric’s eyebrows rose as Aela and Skjor began to strip off the small amount of light clothing they wore, and when Farkas did the same he went along. The big warrior kept his bulk between his lover and his brother. There was no real modesty among the pack after all these years, but he still didn’t want Vilkas’ eyes on Edric.

The handful of times his man had watched him hunt prepared him somewhat for the sight of Aela transforming, Edric barely reacting to it other than to flinch slightly. The scent of female wolf filled the air as she hunched over and her bones contorted and red fur sprouted from her skin, and within a minute she rose gracefully to her feet and shook herself, grinning at Edric with glowing yellow eyes. She was the only female werewolf Farkas had seen up close, but she was definitely the prettiest he had ever seen, lithe in a way the males could never be, her head not as broad, her clawed hands smaller.

“Shit,” Edric whispered.

“Our sister is the greatest hunter among us,” Skjor stated as he held up an obsidian knife with a handle made of elk antler. “Maybe with you she’ll finally find the hunting partner she’s always wanted.”

“I hope so.”

The she-wolf huffed at him, her tail wagging. It made a lump form in Farkas’ throat to see her so happy. He hadn’t realized Aela was lonely. He knew she regretted that their pack wasn’t a normal one, and he knew it irritated her when the males wouldn’t behave themselves around her in wolf form, but he had thought her hunting alone was completely a matter of preference. If anyone would be an acceptable hunting partner it would be Edric, who had an utter lack of interest in women. Farkas never sought them out for himself, but he liked women just enough to be susceptible to a female wolf’s scent.

Skjor took Aela’s arm and glanced at her and she nodded, still holding Edric’s gaze, and the Dragonborn flinched again as the Harbinger held her arm over the basin then cut the vein in her forearm. Farkas put his hand on Edric’s back and felt him trembling as the blood ran out, the scent filling the air and calling to his own beast. He and Skjor had hunted the night before in preparation for this, so they were in perfect control, but it still pulled a low growl out of him that he couldn’t keep back. Edric shivered at the sound and Farkas nuzzled his hair and murmured, “You’re safe, sweetheart. I swear you are. None of us would ever hurt you.”

“Aye,” he whispered with a nod.

Skjor set the knife aside then then he began to shift as he growled, “Drrrrink.”

“Ah fuck,” Edric whimpered, so quietly that only Farkas could hear it. The Dragonborn shuddered and the smell of fear was strong in the air as the younger man watched the Harbinger twist into a rangy gray werewolf, old and one-eyed but still powerful.

“Don’t do it,” Vilkas demanded of the Dragonborn, his voice trembling. “If you have any sense left in you, don’t, I’m begging you.”

Farkas glanced at his brother and Vilkas was hugging himself, his eyes wild and tinged with yellow, nostrils flared, his entire body twitching as if it took every ounce of willpower he had to not shift. Aela and Skjor snarled at their pack brother and Vilkas squeezed his eyes shut and huddled against the stone wall. Farkas touched Edric’s shoulder and said, “This is your choice, honey. If you don’t want to do this, then don’t. I’m with you no matter—” He cut off with a sharp intake of breath as Edric suddenly leaned forward and scooped up a handful of blood and sucked it down and promptly gagged. After a moment’s coughing and choking he swallowed down another two in quick succession and Farkas said in dismay, “Shit Edie, you only have to do one!”

He stepped back as his lover held onto the edge of the basin with a white-knuckled grip, his arms trembling and stiff, his body occasionally lurching as he fought not to throw up. There wasn’t any shame in it. Farkas waited anxiously, knowing that if Edric was going to live or die it would be within the next few seconds. He would never forgive himself if his man died from taking the beastblood. It didn’t seem possible that the Dragonborn could live through everything that he had and then die from this. The big warrior clenched his fists and did what he hadn’t in more years than he could count and prayed to Hircine, begging the Lord of the Hunt to take a hand in this and keep Edric safe. The Huntsman was fair, and surely he wanted the Dragonborn for his own. Edric already had Hircine’s favor, even if he had given the ring away.

Edric’s knees buckled as he let out a loud groan, then Farkas heard the first creak of bones stretching then the Dragonborn grabbed his head and screamed then began to thrash. “Edie,” he whispered in horror. This was so much worse than he had bargained for. He refrained from changing; he and Skjor had agreed that he should hold off as long as possible, in case something went wrong. Surely something wasn’t wrong! Edric fell to his knees as his back arched and fur flowed over his skin, light blondish-brown streaked with white like a brindled hound. The two werewolves padded over and hovered, restless, Aela whining with worry. Well Farkas was worried too. This didn’t seem normal, the way the fur sprang out then pulled in again, and he could swear, _swear_ , that he saw scales. Honest to gods scales, tiny dragon scales, mixed in with the fur, as if the dragon and wolf were battling for dominance inside him.

“Something is wrong!” Vilkas cried. “I told you this would happen!”

Farkas didn’t spare the attention to bark at his twin to shut up, too terrified to take his eyes from his suffering mate. The struggle continued for what seemed an eternity as Edric thrashed on the stone floor of the cave. “Please,” he whispered tearfully. “Hircine hear my prayers, please…”

“No,” his brother demanded. “Better to let him die than live as a beast!” He cringed back as Aela snarled at him.

Farkas stared at his lover with haunted eyes and continued praying under his breath, while Aela whimpered and paced and Skjor watched Edric, the old male’s head swinging back and forth as his claws flexed then clenched helplessly. Finally Edric rolled onto his side with a groan that stretched out into a cry of agony drawn into a howl, and Farkas blew out a shuddering breath as the transformation finally took hold. The two werewolves crooned in satisfaction as the brindled fur covered Edric’s bare form and his frame strained and grew, teeth lengthened into fangs and claws extended. Wildly relieved, Farkas backed away, unsure that his mate would recognize him at first. He held off on transforming, not trusting that Vilkas would stay and help if something went even more wrong. He couldn’t trust his brother one bit when it came to Edric.

Edric shook himself and rolled over then raised his head and howled, and the sound vibrated and bounced off the rock walls, leaving behind the rumble of thunder.

“Oh…shit,” Vilkas breathed in terror. “Oh gods, what was—” The words bit off with an unmanly shriek as the brindled werewolf’s head swung about and yellow eyes fixed on him then Edric lunged for him with a furious, booming roar. The Companion whirled away just in time to avoid the swipe of massive claws, then the two senior werewolves leapt and grabbed Edric and tackled him to the ground.

“Get out,” Farkas growled, and his brother fled without a backward glance. Farkas didn’t blame him for it; Edric would tear him apart if he stayed. Maybe even…eat him. That thought pushed him into his own transformation, as did the sight of Aela and Skjor struggling to keep Edric down long enough for Vilkas to get out of the Underforge.

He rose to his feet, the top of his head nearly scraping the ceiling, and ran over and shoved the other two werewolves aside. They snapped at him but moved back, and once free Edric snarled and whirled around to let out a long, crackling growl, his lips drawn back. He moved to run past Farkas towards the exit, the direction Vilkas had gone, but Farkas barked and held him back. He could smell a rich spicy musk, enticing, more delicious than any female could smell, and his mate was so pretty, bigger than before but still much smaller than Farkas, slender, his mottled fur shining softly in the torchlight.

The three older wolves hemmed him in, and Edric swatted at them and they moved back. He eyed them warily, and Farkas huffed in amusement. Now that Vilkas was gone Edric was calm, surprisingly calm for a newborn. He seemed confused, looking between the three as if trying to place them. His gaze finally lingered on Farkas and he tilted his head and gave out a faint whine and took a tentative step forward, his tail wagging slightly. The big male grinned and panted happily to realize his mate recognized him, and he lowered his nose to Edric’s as the smaller male stretched towards him. Then Farkas’ happiness turned to worry as Edric stumbled backwards with a whine, this time one of distress, falling against the wall of the cave, then he doubled over and vomited on the floor.

Farkas stared in confusion, Aela and Skjor stepping back, as the stench of alcohol rose up from the bloody mess. The big black werewolf shook his head and whimpered, his limited brain not knowing what to do. Edric continued vomiting until nothing but dry heaves were left then he slid down the wall on his side, moaning and shaking.

Aela yowled then stumbled away, and Farkas winced in sympathy as she forced herself back into human form. It hurt to do that before it was time. It hurt bad.

The naked female panted then breathlessly said to the two males, “It’s the change. It’s forcing the liquor out of him. It’s forcing him into withdrawal.” Farkas whined, barely understanding, and she pushed her sweaty hair back then glanced at her forearm, seeing the cut was scabbed over. She quickly yanked her clothing back on and stayed out of Edric’s reach as she watched and waited, unable to do anything else.

Edric finally came out of it with glazed eyes, so suddenly that Aela cried out and skittered backwards as he lunged for her with a snarl, Farkas and Skjor barely catching him in time. Farkas didn’t understand why Edric wasn’t trying to run. Newborns always ran. All of them had. Edric roared in frustrated rage and went for Skjor’s throat and Farkas hauled him back, barely able to keep hold of his mate. Edric was too strong for his size, and Farkas aware enough to fear hurting him, and then Edric was turning on him, whipping his head around to sink his teeth into Farkas’ arm, making the big male yowl in pain.

Edric broke free and went after Aela again, and as Skjor yanked him back Edric turned the attack on the old male again. It was all both males could do to keep the young one contained, and both were paying the price for it, their blood spotting the cave floor. “Put him in the cage!” Aela shouted. Farkas shook his head and growled in outrage, and she ordered, “Do it, goddamn it! Right now!”

The brindled male’s claws dug into Skjor’s ribs, and at that the two older males began dragging him towards the cage. The young wolf didn’t seem to care, too set on killing his elders. Aela followed at a safe distance, and Farkas could see and smell how upset she was. This was her first descendant in the blood and it had gone terribly wrong. The only way it could have gone more wrong was if Edric had died.

Farkas and Skjor wrestled Edric into the cage as Aela tried to shut the door, and between the three of them they finally got Edric contained, the female having to dance out of the way as the newborn threw himself against the door and took a swipe at her.

The males squatted down dejectedly on the floor and Skjor began licking his wounds, and Farkas leaned towards Aela and nudged her with his nose. She made a sound of grief and came to sit between them, and when she saw Farkas staring sadly at his wild mate she patted his shoulder. “Clean yourself, brother,” she mumbled. He huffed heavily in sorrow and began doing so, keeping his eyes on Edric who was snarling and battering himself against the bars, trying to find a way out. Aela drew her knees up and hugged them, watching him, waiting for the other two to change back. Skjor nuzzled her and she leaned against him and whispered, “This is terrible. I don’t know what to do.” Farkas licked her cheek and she rubbed his head and looked up at him. “I’m sorry, Farkas,” she said brokenly. “This should have been a happy night, not this…disaster. I was prepared for the dragon blood to cause problems, but nothing like this.” She winced as Edric grabbed hold of the bars and shook them, throwing his head back and letting out a yowl of misery that trailed off, leaving the crack of thunder in its wake. “ _That_ is going to be a definite problem,” she muttered.

Skjor made a grumbling sound of impatience and stood, moving away then forcing himself back into human form, groaning in pain, and when it was done he panted, “Damn it all, what do we do now?”

“Beats the hell out of me,” Aela replied in exhaustion.

“The whole thing has gone to shit,” the older man said impatiently as he went for his clothes. “The thu’um in his howl? How are we supposed to hide that!”

“He’ll have to hunt farther away, that’s all. We’ll work it out.” She laid her chin on her forearms. “If he ever comes to his senses.” Farkas whimpered as his mate turned in circles and batted at his own head then shook it. Aela patted his broad back and suggested, “Try going to him again. See if it will calm him down.”

The big male crawled towards the cage, and when he neared it Edric snarled and reached through the bars to claw at him, making him fall back again. Farkas stayed out of reach, rocking and whining as he sat on his haunches, feeling helpless as he waited for the beast to retreat. He had no reason to change back before his time, and Edric would change back before he did. Maybe. He knew a lot about being a werewolf, not as much as Aela but a lot, but what awareness he did have right now told him that maybe what he knew might not totally apply to a wolf like Edric.

The young male resumed his pacing and occasionally threw his shoulders into the bars, trying to break out, but the cage had been made to contain their kind and didn’t bend. When Farkas finally felt the change come over him he welcomed it, and once he was human again he cried out in desperation, “Gods, what are we gonna do? He’s beating himself up in there!” Now that he could finally talk and think again, as well as he ever thought anyway, he was in a panic, thinking of how his little lover was going to be one huge bruise in the morning if he kept this up. Farkas and Skjor were still wounded, but they could drink potions.

“We’ll just have to wait for him to change back and sedate him,” Skjor decided. “Does Arcadia have those sedatives ready?”

“I don’t know,” Farkas moaned. “This wasn’t supposed to happen so soon. And it’s the middle of the night.” None of them had imagined the change pushing Edric into withdrawal. It had never crossed any of their minds. They were supposed to only have to deal with one thing at a time. It was like once the alcohol flushed out of his system he had lost his mind. Then Farkas realized that was just what was happening. Edric had mentioned that he had hallucinated the last time he tried to quit. Maybe he was hallucinating now, on top of being confused and terrified. Newborn werewolves were always muddled and scared at first, but gods only knew what Edric was thinking and seeing and feeling right now.

Aela rose to her feet, saying, “You two stay with him and I’ll have Ria deal with her aunt while I get you some healing potions.”

Farkas heard her leave, but he couldn’t take his eyes off his mate, wanting so badly to go to him and comfort him, but he knew Edric would rip him to shreds if he got hold of him. This wasn’t supposed to happen! The beast blood made them immune to diseases, but not poison, and that was what alcohol was. He knew that much. A werewolf could get as drunk as anyone else. They didn’t have any resistance to liquor, though they got over being drunk faster.

Skjor brought over his clothing, avoiding the blood on the floor, and said, “Try talking to him. From here. He should've changed back by now. Maybe your voice will help bring him back.” The Harbinger sighed heavily and added, “Aela and I didn’t expect anything like this, Farkas. I swear it upon my honor.”

“I know,” the big warrior mumbled as he pulled his clothes on, his eyes never leaving Edric, who was still pacing but had stopped beating himself against the walls of the cage. The brindled werewolf alternated growls and whines and kept hitting his head with his palms, and the sight made Farkas want to cry, seeing how confused Edric was. He could smell the fear and anger in the air mixed with wolf musk, alongside the metallic tang of blood and the stench of vomit and alcohol.

Skjor hung back against one wall, as out of sight as possible, as Farkas moved closer but out of reach. “Edie,” he whispered. There was no response. “Edie honey,” he said more loudly, and the newborn’s whines stretched into an unhappy, echoing yowl. “It’s me, sweetheart. It’s Farkas.” Edric stopped pacing and patted his ears, and Farkas noticed that now they were flattened back, his tail tucked in and shoulders hunched. He carefully, slowly edged closer, murmuring, “It’s all right, love. It’s okay, Edie. This won’t last, I promise.” He hoped that was the case. He’d heard of werewolves that had gone feral and never changed back, though that was usually when they had taken wolf form too often.

There was a sound of worry from the Harbinger as Farkas moved within reach of Edric, and when he said his lover’s name again the werewolf whined and finally looked him in the eye. Edric looked exhausted and afraid, but so lovely. Farkas had always thought Aela the prettiest beast he had ever seen, but he could honestly say Edric was prettier, with that mottled fur, and he seemed more proportional than most werewolves. More…wolfish, less monstrous, his fingers and claws shorter, his muzzle longer. Furrier all over. Farkas half-feared that if he ran his fingers through the fur that he would find scales. He knew the thought was foolish, but this night had already been so weird and upsetting that he couldn’t discount anything. He wasn’t going to be happy until he was certain that Edric was calm and okay. Well, better, anyway. They still had to get him through the rest of withdrawal, and how was Ria going to help if Edric was stuck in here in a cage?

He kept talking softly as he moved closer, and when he approached the cage Edric lunged towards him, making him fall back, but the wolf whined and stuck his nose through the bars, and it completely broke Farkas’ heart. He abandoned all caution and went to his mate, catching the clawed hands that reached for him and setting them firmly on the bars. Edric whimpered and Farkas put his arms through to hold him as best he could, smelling intense distress, with cinnamon underneath. “It’ll be okay, honey,” he swore. “I’ll take care of you. You’ll be out soon, I promise.”

“I wouldn’t make promises, brother,” Skjor softly warned.

“We can’t leave him in here! You want him to go through getting off booze while he’s in here? That’s fucking cruel!” The thought was infuriating, that Edric would have to suffer through something that was hard enough as it was without being a prisoner in a cage underground the whole time.

“We can’t let him out if he can’t handle the blood. You think I like the idea? I feel responsible for this. If I’d had any idea it would be like this I never would have allowed it. His drinking only made things worse. I thought he was supposed to start tapering off.”

Farkas made a scoffing sound of dismissal and began petting his mate, who seemed to have calmed. Yes, Edric had promised to gradually cut back on his drinking, in an attempt to make withdrawal as comfortable as possible, but it was supposed to be after tonight, and Farkas knew he had drunk heavily beforehand to cope with his nerves, and had been drinking heavily right before and after Kodlak's death. The thing was, he knew they couldn’t let Edric out. Even once he changed back Edric couldn’t be let out, not if he couldn’t prove that he could control his beast, which was the most violent any of them had ever seen, other than the feral ones. And his lover wasn’t feral, Farkas knew he wasn’t. He wouldn’t be allowing this right now if he was.

He kissed the side of Edric’s muzzle then pulled back to look him in the eyes. He grabbed the fur on his mate’s cheeks and tried to smile, whispering, “Look how pretty you are. The prettiest wolf I’ve ever seen.” There was still a glaze to those yellow eyes, but they were focused. “Try to change back,” he urged. “Think about being a person again. You have to…to try to push the beast back inside.” Edric whined, uncomprehending. Farkas sighed and petted his head, reaching behind with one hand to scratch the ruff of his neck, sinking his fingers in to touch skin. No scales. That was good. “That’s okay. We’ll just wait for it to happen on its own.” How long they’d have to wait was a mystery, because Edric wasn’t doing anything the way it was supposed to go.

“Did you mean those prayers earlier?”

The Harbinger’s question was surprising, but Farkas answered, “Of course I did.” He heard the older man move and Edric tensed, but Farkas soothed him and the newborn werewolf didn’t grow violent again as Skjor slowly approached.

“Our Lord is fair,” Skjor stated. “He may well have intervened in this.” He paused then added in a tone of confusion, “I’ve never seen one of our kind who’ve looked like this. I’ve heard stories. Of those who have Hircine’s favor being able to completely become a wolf when they turn. This isn’t quite like that, but it’s…interesting.”

“Hircine wants him.” And why wouldn’t the Huntsman want Edric? Grabbing the Dragonborn’s soul for one’s own was a pretty big feat, considering all the Princes who must have been teased with it. There were much worse Princes to belong to.

The older man snorted. “I’d reckon he does, after Sinding. If our Lord had a hand in this, then Edric owes him.” The wolf huffed at the sound of his name, and Skjor let out another quiet laugh and moved forward, letting Edric smell his hand. The Harbinger left it at that but stayed close, saying to the Dragonborn in a wry tone, “Thought you’d pull it off like you always do, didn’t you lad? You can’t return this like a sword, or just walk away from it. It’s part of you. Be glad it’s Hircine who has you now, and not Hermaeus Mora.”

Farkas leaned his head against Edric’s, feeling chilled. His lover had been so cavalier about cheating the Daedric Princes he had come across. Edric had told him very little about his experiences in Apocrypha, and Farkas hadn’t pressed. Edric had dealt with the Prince of Knowledge and Fate _twice_ and gotten away with it, seemingly, and while he had been glib about all the others and had had no trouble talking to Farkas about those, the Dragonborn had always seemed to grow quiet and anxious when talking about Hermaeus Mora. No, better to pledge himself to the Lord of the Hunt, who would deal straight with him.

There was a sudden low groan as Edric twitched, and Farkas sighed in relief as his mate slid down the bars to his knees and began contorting back into human form. “Where’s the key?” Farkas asked.

“Not letting him out,” Skjor said flatly.

“He can’t change again for another day! He isn’t dangerous!”

“You can’t guarantee that. None of us can. We’ll help you get him comfortable when Aela returns, but he isn’t getting set loose. I don’t want to be responsible for explaining to the people of Whiterun why their Thane ate some of them. Do you?”

Farkas went silent at that, kneeling down to pet Edric’s bare back. His man was shivering, his skin cold and coated with sweat. “Edie honey,” he whispered.

“I feel sick,” Edric whimpered.

“I know, sweetheart. You’re going through—” His man convulsed and vomited but nothing came up but blood-tinged bile. Farkas stroked his mate’s back, silently willing Aela to hurry, wondering how they were going to deal with this. He knew they would, because really there was no other choice, but they weren’t supposed to have to deal with it like this, so suddenly, on the heels of a difficult first change.

“Here,” Skjor murmured, handing Farkas his lover’s clothes.

Edric whined, “Let me out. Please.”

Farkas squeezed his eyes shut for a moment then looked up at Skjor, pleading with this eyes, and he could see the older man felt terrible about this. Of course he did. But he wasn’t about to let Edric out and Farkas knew it. Even Kodlak probably wouldn’t have, father or not. Skjor was right that there was no way of knowing yet if Edric was dangerous, just because of what he was, because he wasn’t just a man or a wolf.

“I’m sorry, son,” Skjor said in a rough voice. “We can’t do that quite yet.”

Edric lifted his head and snarled then caught himself, his eyes wide, as if shocked by his own behavior, and Farkas felt his heart twist to see silver eyes in his mate’s face instead of green. He had known they would change but it was still shocking to see. Sad, too. Edric’s eyes had been like a sweet spring day, and now… now they were cold and inhuman. Farkas knew he’d get used to it. He supposed he had to.

“Good,” the Harbinger said in approval. “If you prove you can control your beast for a few days then you can come out.”

The Dragonborn clung to the bars and pleaded, “Don’t leave me in here. You can’t make me go through this in a cage. It’s…it’s inhumane.”

“I can’t risk our shield-siblings or the people of Whiterun–”

_“FEIM!”_

Farkas reared back at the shout in his face, and it took a few seconds for him to realize what Edric was trying to do as his mate went at the bars again while transparent. Contact with the bars made him solid again, and Edric went wild, bellowing at the top of his lungs so loud that the two Companions cried out in pain and clapped their hands over their ears. He began pulling and shoving at the bars like a crazy person, the force of it so great that the heavy cage began scooting along the stone floor, but before Farkas or Skjor could stop him he groaned and turned around then began pacing in a tight circle like a hound trying to settle for a nap.

“Unlock the door,” Farkas whispered to Skjor.

The Harbinger shook his head and firmly said, “No.” Farkas growled and moved close to the bars again, watching his lover intently, while Edric whined and wound his fingers into his own hair. Skjor murmured in sympathy, “He doesn’t have control of his beast, Farkas. It isn’t his fault, and I feel like shit about this, but I can’t risk the safety of our shield-siblings or the people of this city because I feel bad for him. Once Aela gets back I’ll unlock the door and we can try to make him comfortable, but I’m not letting him out. If… _when_ , he starts hallucinating I want him contained. He’s stronger than a man twice his—”

Edric’s movements suddenly slowed then he stumbled, his eyelids fluttering, and Farkas demanded, “Open the door, damn it!” Skjor hurried to do so, and Farkas ran into the cage just as Edric’s body stiffened with a cry and he began to fall. He lowered his lover to the floor and held him, unable to do anything more than keep him from hurting himself as his body became stiff as a board. “What’s wrong with him!” Farkas whimpered.

“I think he’s having a fit,” Skjor said with worry.

“A what!”

“When I was a fresh recruit, in the Legion, there was another lad who had it. The falling sickness. Tried hiding it, but you can’t hide something like that. He was talented too, a damn shame.”

“What do I do?” This was too horrible for words. Edric’s breathing was shallow and his muscles tight, and his skin was cold since they’d never had the chance to get him dressed.

“There’s nothing you can do. Just hold him. He might start thrashing around soon, at least that’s what that lad always did. Keep him on his side as much as possible. Make sure he doesn’t—”

“Fuck,” Farkas growled, finding himself with an armful of insanely strong Dragonborn whose body was now twitching and jerking. Gods this was awful. This was the most awful thing he had ever seen, and he had seen a lot of awful things. His lover’s eyes were rolled back and he was foaming at the mouth, and it was flecked with blood, as if he’d bitten himself inside. It only lasted a couple minutes at most, but they were horrible minutes. Farkas felt helpless, his only role to keep his beloved from whacking himself on something or choking, and at the moment he hated himself for ever suggesting Edric take the beastblood. It was his partner’s drinking causing this, he knew that, but if they’d had the chance to taper off the way Arcadia had suggested this wouldn’t have happened. They should’ve gotten Edric clean before he took the blood. There was no way any of them could’ve known this would happen, but they should have played it safe. Could’ve. Should’ve.

Once the episode passed Edric lay limp in Farkas’ arms, coated in sweat, his hands grasping feebly at nothing, breathing heavily. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered, gathering the smaller man into his arms as best he could. “I’m sorry.” Edric didn’t seem to notice, his eyes glazed when they opened at all.

“We all are,” Skjor muttered in a guilt-stricken tone, moving close to lay Edric’s clothes over him. He sighed heavily and used the corner of the shirt to wipe around the young man’s mouth. “Damn shame.”

“Is this gonna happen again?” the big warrior asked fearfully.

“Don’t know. It could. Someone needs to stay with him at all times, make sure he doesn’t hurt himself. We’ll take turns.”

“I’m not leaving him. Not even for a minute.”

Skjor cocked an eyebrow at him then snorted. “You will, brother,” he disagreed, though not unkindly. “Sooner or later you’ll need a break. When you do one of us will take over for a bit.”

Farkas stared at him for a moment, scowling, then lowered his eyes back to Edric. He wasn’t delusional. He knew this was going to be hard, but he’d be damned if he stepped away while his man needed him. But…but he’d have to step away eventually, if only for a little bit. He’d have to go bathe and get some sun and just breathe once in a while. He wasn’t…well, Edric would throw a fit if he said he was stupid. He wasn’t smart, but even he knew he couldn’t go it alone.

They sat silently for several minutes, Farkas holding Edric as the younger man made occasional soft mewling sounds, seeming confused but sleepy, and to his relief his lover did end up falling asleep. Skjor simply sat with them. Farkas finally whispered, “What’s taking so fucking long?”

The older man shrugged. “It’s the middle of the night. Aela’s on it, don’t worry.”

“I _have_ to worry. Arcadia…she said it could kill people, quitting stone cold when they've been drinking the way he does. He could die.” Skooma was hard to get off of, so he'd heard, really hard, but the withdrawal wouldn’t kill you. Alcohol was just about the worst there was, if you were a really heavy drinker. Edric had been drinking too much for too long. Arcadia had warned them both how bad it could be. To Edric’s credit, he had been obviously afraid but determined to go through with it. They just hadn’t planned on it being this way.

“He isn’t going to die, Farkas,” the Harbinger said in a patient tone. “He’ll be fine. He’s young and healthy, and he’s--”

“Don’t. Don’t even say it. Being Dragonborn doesn’t mean he’ll be fine. Just ‘cause he’ll probably live doesn’t mean he’s fine. Just ‘cause he’s always gotten along okay doesn’t mean he’s fine. He’s never been fine.” Edric laughed it all off, tried to make it seem like nothing ever really got to him, nothing but the subject of Ralof, but Farkas knew that wasn’t true. He’d always known that. It had started with Edric having to practically raise himself and hadn’t gotten any better from there. Smaller than the other Nord kids, too pretty to be a boy, an unstable mother forced to sell herself, no father to protect and guide him, starting on drink too young, nearly getting executed in Helgen, the dragons and the civil war, the vampires, that other Dragonborn, Kodlak dying… Edric managed. He coped. But he sure as hell wasn’t _fine_.

Skjor said with a touch of annoyance, “I know he isn’t mentally or emotionally healthy, Farkas. We all know that. But he isn’t broken either. If he was he’d be dead by now. This is shitty, no one can deny that, but he’ll get through this, just like he has everything else. Maybe without liquor as a crutch he’ll get things sorted out faster.” Farkas grunted, lifting a hand to pet sweetroll hair back from his lover’s face. Skjor went on in a kinder, softer tone, “Once you’ve bonded it will help. Or at least I like to think so. I still don’t like the idea of it, relationships inside the Circle, but maybe it will be good for him.”

“Yeah. Maybe,” he murmured. He wanted to believe having a bond between them would help. Would keep Edric steady, give him something to focus on other than drinking. It would be nice to go somewhere with the other man and not have him start getting edgy and shaky every few hours.

“We’ll keep one end of the table clear of alcohol,” Skjor stated as he tucked the clothing more snugly around the young man. “I’ll let Tilma know. Ask the others to keep it away from him until he can manage on his own. Who knows, maybe he’ll always have trouble with it. We’ll figure it out as we go.”

“I appreciate it.” Farkas would have to stop drinking too, at least when Edric was around. It wasn’t fair to expect Edric to give up something he’d relied on for so long and not do the same when Farkas didn’t even have a drinking problem. He didn’t want his love smelling alcohol on him either, and Edric’s sense of smell would be stronger now. Farkas had gotten so used to the smell of liquor oozing out of his mate that it would be strange not to smell it there. He smelled terrible right now, reeking of sweat and stress, blood and vomit, a horrible combination. It made Farkas want to bundle up his lover and hop on a horse and ride nonstop until they reached the hot springs so that he could wash and cuddle him in the hot water and try to soak the sickness out of him. It wasn’t as simple a matter as that--Arcadia had explained it and it had gone right over his head—but it couldn’t hurt.

The sound of the stone door sliding open sent relief through the Companion. Aela was carrying a wooden crate full of food and water and a few potions, a satchel over her shoulder, and Farkas felt a surge of gratitude to see his twin behind her, his arms full of bedding. Vilkas avoided everyone’s eyes, looking jittery and angry, but he was there, and it didn’t matter why.

Aela set the crate down then knelt in front of Farkas at Skjor’s side, while Vilkas began laying out a sleeping area behind them. She seemed anxious, an unusual thing to see in the Huntress, and she lifted a hand and hesitated before laying it on Edric’s forehead. Edric did feel warmer than usual. “Did it take him long to calm?” she asked in a near whisper.

“Long enough,” Skjor answered. “He’s going to be a bruised up mess in the morning. He seized up too, went into convulsions.”

The redhead frowned then shook her head. “Arcadia had a few potions brewed up already,” she stated, motioning to the crate. “She was being pissy the entire time, but she said she’d have more ready by dinnertime tomorrow.”

“Did she say how often to give it to him?” Farkas asked.

“Half a bottle every three or four hours. No more than that or he might stop breathing. She couldn’t stress that enough.”

The warning made a shiver of fear go through him. “Was that it?”

“Well, she did keep muttering ‘that little shit owes me’ over and over again.” Farkas’ eyes narrowed in irritation. Aela pulled away the shirt, saying, “Let’s get him dressed and comfortable, as much as we can.”

“Sure,” Farkas said with a nod. So they’d owe the alchemist. That was fine. He and Edric both knew that. Neither of them were looking forward to a trek through soggy, bug-infested Hjaalmarch to gather ingredients for her, but after seeing Edric convulse like that, if the potion helped and kept him down and calm and comfortable Farkas would do anything in repayment.

Between the two of them they got Edric mostly dressed before he woke and began whimpering and trying to get away. His pants were on at least, and that was what mattered. Skjor moved out of the way, going outside the cage to slam the door shut if needed. Farkas tried not to restrain his mate, instead murmuring to him and petting him, but Edric seemed to not recognize him at all.

Aela grabbed the Dragonborn by the chin and said in a raised voice, “Edric, listen to me.” He gasped and stared at her wide-eyed, then he blinked and tried to focus on her. She put her hand on his cheek and gently said, “You’re sick, brother. The change flushed the alcohol out of your body.” He shook his head in confusion. “The pack is trying—”

“Where’s Farkas?” he whispered shakily. The big warrior made a sound of hurt and loosened his grip, and Edric took the opening to roll out of his arms and scramble into a corner of the cage, opposite Vilkas, who pressed himself back against the bars. “Let me out,” Edric demanded in a growl, his eyes darting to the door.

The Huntress motioned at Farkas to move over to the door, and he slowly and carefully did so, and when his mate’s eyes widened in almost horror he had to fight the urge to go to him. Gods only knew what Edric saw when he looked at him, and when Vilkas slid along the edges of the cage to join him Edric shuddered and swallowed hard, shaking his head vehemently as he stared at them with huge, dilated eyes.

“I won’t do it,” Edric stated in a tremulous voice. “I won’t stay here. Tell your master…” He shook his head and blinked. “I’ll kill all of you, I swear it,” he whispered harshly. “I’ll burn every book in this place.” Aela moved into his line of sight, and he reached out and grabbed her wrist and pulled her to his side. “I’ll get you out of here, Aela, I just…I have to find the right book. I know it’s in here somewhere. It’s black. I…I must have dropped it. Or those…those _things_ took it,” he hissed, looking at the twins.

“What things?” she asked carefully.

“Can’t you see them? With the…the tentacles and the arms, those freaky long arms.” He squinted and whimpered, “Why are they just floating there!” He rubbed his face then held his hand out and flexed it then shook it out, trembling. “I need a drink,” he whispered to her.

“I’ll get you one, brother,” Aela offered. “But just a little one. Enough to hold you over, right? Until we get out.”

“Right. Yeah. Just…just a little one, that’s all I need.”

Farkas clamped his lips shut against a whine as Edric kept his silver eyes on them, disgust written all over his sweet face. His poor body was covered with red marks and abrasions from throwing himself against the bars. What in Oblivion did he think the three men were? He seemed to trust Aela at least, maybe because she was his forebear and there was now that thread of a connection between them, something in the beastblood telling him to listen to the one who made him. The clever Huntress poured out half of a potion bottle into a mug then coaxed him to drink it, ignoring his protests that it didn’t taste right, and within ten or fifteen seconds of downing it he swayed on his feet.

“Come along, brother,” Aela suggested, gently pulling him towards the bedroll.

“We can’t sleep here,” he whispered loudly, though he went along. “He’ll see me if I don’t keep moving. The eyes. He has a thousand eyes!” He made a blinking motion in front of his face with his hands.

“Who?”

“Herm…herrrmoraaa…” he slurred, his knees suddenly sagging. “Nneverr…never get me…”

“Lie down,” Aela murmured. Edric obeyed her, barely awake at this point, and she got him tucked into the doubled-up bedroll.

“Farkas,” he mumbled, his eyes closed.

“He’s safe.” The Dragonborn nodded and was asleep a second later, and Aela pulled up a thick bear fur over him.

Vilkas wrinkled his nose and asked, “Did he think we were creatures from Apocrypha?”

“I guess,” Farkas mumbled miserably. He left the doorway and knelt down next to Edric to pet his hair as Aela moved away. That was just wrong, hallucinating that Farkas was a monster. His own lover. Sure, all three of the guys had been monsters, but it still hurt. How was he supposed to take care of his man if he looked like a monster?

His twin turned to leave the cage and reared back to see Skjor blocking the exit with his arms spread across the doorway. Vilkas narrowed his eyes. “What?” he muttered.

“You’re going to help,” the Harbinger stated in a tone of quiet menace.

“Did you not see me bring all that shit in? Did you not see me lay it out? I’ve helped. I’m done.”

“Oh no you’re not. You’re going to help your brother through this. We all are. And by brother I mean Edric and Farkas both. The lad is part of the Circle now—”

“Part of the pack,” Aela interjected.

“Indeed,” Skjor agreed, “and Farkas can’t do all this on his own.” Vilkas stared at him without expression. “All that’s expected of you is to sit with him every so often if Farkas needs a break, or bring food and water in when asked. That’s all.”

He stared at the older man for a moment longer then firmly stated, “I will not touch the chamber pot or clean up his vomit. I refuse.”

“No one expects that. But Edric can’t be left alone until he’s through this. If he has another fit he could fall and split his head open or choke.”

Aela said to Vilkas, “The worst of it will be over in two, three days from what Ria says. Once that’s past and he’s proven he can control his beast we’ll move him inside.”

Skjor stated, “He’ll take my old room. I’ll move my things into the Harbinger’s quarters in the morning.” Vilkas grumbled, and the older man said in a lowered voice, “He is a member of the Circle, Vilkas. He is also your brother’s partner.”

“They’ll be moon-wed,” Aela added, making Vilkas sneer in distaste, “and that will make him your kin.”

The dark-haired warrior grumbled, “I will watch, to give Farkas a break, but I will not coddle Edric. I have no pity for him. He did this to himself.”

Farkas growled, “That isn’t how it works, Vilkas. He started drinking when he was just a kid.”

“He was old enough to make his own choices. He will get no sympathy from me.” He motioned at Skjor. “Whatever. Let me out.”

The Harbinger moved out of the way and Vilkas left, his shoulders bunched up. Skjor shook his head and said to Farkas in a fatigued voice, “I’m going to go wash up and take a healing potion and go to sleep. I suggest you try to get some rest while you can.” The big man nodded, and the older man handed him the key to the cage then left as well, moving with obvious soreness from the wounds Edric’s wolf had given him.

Farkas turned his gaze back on his sleeping mate, leaning close for a moment to listen and make sure he was breathing. He felt a hand on his shoulder then a minor healing potion was pressed into his hand, and he mumbled his thanks and downed it. It wasn't enough to fully heal all the damage Edric had done, especially the deep bite on his arm, but it closed up the wounds and took away some of the pain. Aela sank down next to him to sit cross-legged at Edric’s side. “This isn’t Edie’s fault,” he insisted.

“I know,” she said with a nod. She then snorted and added, “Vilkas would blame someone for an addiction but denies responsibility for the beastblood that he took as a full adult. He whines about the blood troubling him and affecting his behavior but gives no leeway when it comes to others.” She shook her head. “It still hurts at times, seeing him this way. He’s always been difficult, but he was always a good man.”

“Yeah,” Farkas mumbled. If his brother had always been an asshole maybe it would have been easier to live with, this last year. But Vilkas hadn’t been. He had been stern at times, impatient at others, his tongue always too sharp, but he had also been loyal, and a skilled trainer, good to hang out and have a drink with, affectionate in private. He had been trustworthy. He’d been trusted. The beastblood had never sat comfortably with him but it hadn’t particularly bothered him either. Farkas understood that Vilkas felt honor-bound to keep his word to Kodlak and deny the blood, but when a vow started to do more harm than good it was time to take a look at it and ask yourself if there was still any point to it.

“As much as it pains me to say it, he’d be better off cured. If he refuses to continue being a full member of this pack then I’d rather he wasn’t part of it at all.” She turned her eyes on Edric and her expression softened. “This one…he took the beastblood for the right reasons. The reasons I joined. Ma was gone by time it was my turn, and Da not long after that, but I wanted to honor her memory and make her proud. My family was gone, so I joined a new one.”

“Yeah,” he repeated, more warmly this time. Aela kept her eyes on Edric, and after a moment she made that same hesitant motion as before, as if wanting to touch him but reluctant to. Or maybe she wasn’t used to wanting to. She finally used the tip of one finger to loop a stray lock of white hair out of the younger man’s face. “What’s it feel like?” Farkas asked. It was odd to see anything approximating tenderness in her. He knew she liked Edric, even if she found him a little aggravating at times, well, everyone did, but Farkas could tell there was a difference now.

“Strange,” she admitted. “Skjor told me I’d feel…something. A thread between us. And I do, but…” She frowned, her red brows drawing together as she looked up at him. She seemed to struggle with something for a moment. “It’s more…invasive than I thought it would be. Perhaps I’ll get used to it with time.” Her hands balled up in her lap, she looked down at the sleeping young man again. “We all share pack bonds. We’re all descended from the same bloodline. You’re my brothers, and I your sister, and I’ve been content in that. I have _no_ wish to bond with a man, to take a mate. None. But feeling this… I almost wonder if Skjor and I were right to go this route.” Farkas’ eyebrows shot up, and she pointed a finger in his face and ordered, “Not a word, Ice Brain. There’s no going back anyway. All I’m saying is that I have concerns. If the pup is still here in the spring, with that connection there, perhaps it would be best if he’s elsewhere that night. I don’t want to risk an accidental bond. I won’t be tied down. To anyone.”

Bewildered, the warrior stammered, “But…but he doesn’t even like girls. I mean women. You’re not a girl. You’re a woman.” Aela stared at him with narrowed eyes. “I mean, I don’t really either, but I do enough to… to uh, get the job…done.” He cleared his throat. “Edie’s never…he’s just never. Touched a woman that way. He thinks, well, he told me he thinks women are kind of gross.” Aela snorted then barked out a laugh at that. “Their, uh, parts, I mean. Not in general. He likes women a lot, but not their...areas.”

“Yes, I get it,” she stated, in a tone that told him that was more than enough already, though she still looked amused.

“I just don’t think that your season is going to affect him at all. He’s not…” He made a motion around his head. “It just isn’t there. At all.” Farkas wasn’t generally attracted to women, but he was willing to go along with the right incentive. That incentive usually being Vilkas. It was something kind of nice that they’d done together once in a while, when the opportunity arose, like having drinks together. Not that women were mead. Or ale. Aela would knock him over the head if he even hinted at that.

“Good. I hope it doesn’t have any effect on him. Before tonight I was fine with the idea, but now? I’m not sure it’s worth the risk. And there’s always the chance that the bond between you will keep both of you safe. I dislike the idea of involving a mated pair in that anyway. It’s not how things are done.”

“In real packs.”

“This _is_ a real pack, brother,” she stated firmly. “It isn’t a normal pack, I’ll give you that, but it’s still real.” She sighed and looked at Edric again. “Even if lately it feels like it’s coming apart at the seams. I hate that Edric’s first time went this way, but I can’t regret that he’s one of us now. Did you see how fierce he was? You’re the biggest wolf I’ve ever seen, and Skjor is still strong, and he tore the two of you up.”

“Yeah, I felt it,” he said in a sour tone. Only Aela could find any kind of positive out of that nightmare.

“It was unpleasant, I’m sure.”

“Yeah, especially considering he’s my…” Lover, partner, boyfriend…whatever it was called. He thought of Edric as his mate, but really he was only Farkas’ intended mate, not a real one yet.

“Yours,” Aela said simply.

Farkas smiled, her acceptance warming him. Edric was his, and he was Edric’s. It was…nice, talking like this. For once Aela wasn’t treating him like an idiot. Was confiding in him. Maybe becoming a forebear really was affecting her. He asked her, “How long does it usually take? The bonding.” He wanted to have it in place before his mate went off to war, as another thing to help keep him alive if things went wrong down south. Ideally he wanted it in place as soon as possible so they could enjoy it for a while before Edric was gone.

“Not sure,” she said with a shrug. “I’ve heard of it happening in one night, but that’s between a female and male who’ve been courting and consummate a mating heat together. I’ve heard of it taking a few months. There’s no way to tell, and to be honest I can’t say I’ve ever heard of two males bonding before, or two females. I’m certain it’s happened, don't see how it couldn't have, but Ma never mentioned it, nor have the few other packs I’ve met.”

Farkas’ response was interrupted by a long whimper from Edric as he stirred, and Farkas reached out and petted his head. “He feels warm,” he said with worry. “Hot.”

“Well he can’t be sick. We don’t get sick.” She rose to her feet. “I’m going to catch a few hours of sleep. I’ll check in tomorrow morning. If he’s still being unreasonable I might be the only one he’ll mind.”

“Yeah. Thanks, sister.”

She left the cage, keeping the door ajar, and once she was gone Farkas forced himself to close the door and lock it, feeling like an asshole for it, but he couldn’t take chances. If Edric woke up and was being delusional again then got loose? No. No goddamn way. Farkas wasn’t going to be responsible for that. If it was just a matter of his mate being unable to control his beast that would be one thing, but a…a hallucinating Dragonborn werewolf could kill everyone in town. He’d believed his own lover was some kind of Daedric monster, so who knew what he would think the people in town were.

Farkas hid the key under the bedroll then slid under the furs behind Edric, moving up close to hold him, but the smaller man whimpered in what sounded like pain and pulled away, falling back asleep without ever opening his eyes. Farkas sighed and kept a small distance between them, feeling unhappy, but he’d expected to. He had fully expected getting Edric clean to be awful. He’d expected the vomiting and delusions, and he was expecting his mate to yell and complain and be a general pain in the ass in the coming days, with good cause. He was prepared for all of it. He just wasn’t prepared to deal with a newborn werewolf on top of it. He’d also expected Ria’s help. The little Nibenese had been eager to help out her friend and mentor, especially through the rough first week, and they couldn’t even let her in the door. Farkas had no idea what kind of excuse Skjor was going to make up to explain why Edric was being kept in the Underforge. No idea at all. He supposed it wasn’t really his problem, but he had to know so he could keep the story straight.

Edric made a soft little crying noise and shifted around then fell back asleep, and Farkas reached up to wind a brown and white strand around his finger without tugging on it. He really hoped that his man’s nature made this whole thing go faster. If withdrawal had kicked in so suddenly, surely it would go away faster than normal. Arcadia had said that the worst was usually over in three, four days tops, though she’d said the bad cravings could last for up to a month and bother him off and on for up to a year. It was no wonder Edric had been scared of trying to dry out again if it was so damn hard.

It was worth it though. No matter who or what he was, Edric’s heavy drinking would start taking a physical toll before long, and who knew what kind of mental toll it had taken. He had started drinking not long after joining the Legion, in his teens, and had implied it had steadily gotten worse as the years went on. Edric had never lied about it, but he hated talking about it in any depth, and Farkas hadn’t pushed. Once Edric was physically healthy, Farkas would have to push. His mate was using drink to deal with things he didn’t want to talk about. The issue with Ralof, that was easy; he’d married a mostly straight man who hadn’t been comfortable with certain things, hadn’t been given the chance to grow comfortable with them, and then had lost him a few years later.

That kind of grief and resentment was open and out there and completely understandable. But there was more to it. Farkas was sure there was more to it. He couldn’t quite put it all together in his own head, but he knew that there were undercurrents to his lover’s thoughts and emotions that Edric had been suppressing with drink, and had been since he was a kid. Did the younger man even know who he was without alcohol involved? He had come into adulthood with drinking coloring everything he did and felt, and it still did. He used it to deal with sadness, with anger, with any kind of anxiety, with stress in general. He drank to celebrate and have a good time. He drank when he woke up, he drank before falling asleep, he drank after sex, he drank with every meal, sometimes even drank in place of a meal. Alcohol had literally soaked into every aspect of Edric’s life, and Farkas had no idea how long it would take for his man to not automatically make those associations anymore. How long it would take for Edric to just figure out how to live without it. How to feel without its influence.

He leaned close and kissed his mate’s shoulder, lightly enough to not rouse him, aching with sympathy. The next month was going to be hard. Really hard. Edric was going to make things hard. Edric might even hate Farkas for it sometimes. He would handle it. He knew he could handle it. He would do anything for the man he loved and wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA: if you're young (or even not so young) and think you might have a problem with drinking, err on the side of caution and assume you do and get help for it before it completely takes over your life. Seriously...I may not have the most balanced view on the matter but I strongly feel that for many people alcohol is simply poison and they're better off without it. I have never been a drinker of any sort (maybe a single drink once or twice a year at most) but I've watched what booze has done (and continues to do) in my own family and honestly I have no use for it.
> 
> The level of withdrawal that Edric is going through is of a severity that should be treated in a hospital setting, as it truly can kill a person. I did as much research as I could on the topic and have done my best to treat it correctly (if there is such a thing) but obviously due to his nature there will be differences.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More warnings for withdrawal symptoms. I've tried to stay true to what research I did, but we're talking about werewolves and dragon-blooded heroes here, so some artistic license is taken.
> 
> While this story is dialogue-heavy in general, this chapter is especially so. Just thought I would mention it.

**Vilkas**

"I…I can't handle it, Vilkas. I just can't."

Vilkas tried not to feel sorry for his brother as his twin ran his fingers back through his dirty hair, hands shaking slightly and eyes damp. The cause of that distress was currently rampaging around the confines of the cage, roaring and throwing itself against the bars again. This was the fourth day of the Circle's attempt to get the Dragonborn dried out, and it would be an understatement to say it wasn't going well. The first three days hadn't been completely horrible, as Edric had been sedated most of that time, and Vilkas hadn't been forced to become involved any further than bringing in clean clothes and fresh food and water. Farkas had stayed in here with Edric the entire time, refusing to leave him, and that had been fine; all the man had done was moan and whimper, thrash about in a limp sort of way every so often, the sedative keeping the fits from becoming dangerous, and he had been tractable enough in drinking the potion, a pinkish-purple distillation of Sleeping Tree sap and other ingredients.

Well today the tractability had ended, and Edric had refused to drink the potion all day according to Aela and Skjor, who had both tried at different times to get Farkas to leave the cage and take a break. It was evening now, just after dinner, and his brother was now coming to grips with the fact that for his own sanity and perhaps physical safety he had to step away, and it was just Vilkas' luck that he happened to be here when the big oaf realized it. Having your lover go insane and shift and try to kill you would do it, he supposed.

"It's like he doesn't even recognize me," Farkas went on, hugging his middle, his voice breaking. "He won't take the potion anymore. He started acting all paranoid and saying I was trying to poison him. He wouldn't say my name. I told him it was me and he said Farkas wouldn't do this to him. He told me… He said some really horrible shit, Vilkas. I mean, I knew he would get like this, but I didn't think it would… it would be this hard."

Unable to help pitying him, Vilkas muttered, "The whelp doesn't know what he is saying. He's delusional. His brain was so fucked up by booze it doesn't know how to function without it. It will take time for it to learn how to work on its own without alcohol involved."

"But how long!"

"Hell if I know," he sighed. Farkas moved closer to him, his eyes still on the brindled werewolf throwing a tantrum inside the cage, then he threw his arms around Vilkas and held him tight, needing comfort. Vilkas huffed and returned the embrace, feeling bad for him. Farkas looked very worn around the edges, needing a true bath and decent sleep, as decent as their kind could get. Against his better judgment he offered, "I will sit with him tonight. For a few hours at least, until Aela or Skjor come in. He won't know the difference." They looked enough alike that Edric's addled brain might mistake him for Farkas. Which...was troubling in its own way.

"I…guess," the bigger man said reluctantly. "I wanted to talk to Arcadia anyway…"

"Take a bath then go see her. Eat dinner with the others and sleep in your own bed tonight." Farkas grimaced, wavering, and Vilkas insisted, "I'm telling you, he will not know any different. There is no helping him right now. There is nothing we can do to help him learn to control his beast when he can't think straight."

"I shouldn't've told him to quit. It isn't worth it."

Vilkas shoved his arms off then turned to grip his shoulders, saying sternly, "His drinking was going to end up killing him. The only reason it hasn't yet is because of what he is. Do you want to hear about someone finding him dead in a gutter someday?"

"That's a shitty thing to say," Farkas growled.

"He was killing himself a bottle at a time. This will not kill him, no matter how unpleasant it is. If it was going to kill him it would have at some point in the last few days. Has he had any fits today?" Farkas shook his head. "And he ate today?"

"A little. Before he went crazy. I barely got out of the cage in time."

"He was able to eat and is strong enough to change. Take it as a good sign and leave before you start resenting him." Vilkas already did regardless, so it wouldn't hurt to stay here and resent Edric just a bit more than he already did, but Farkas didn't need to hear that. He let go of his twin's shoulders and gave him a light shove. "Go and pull yourself together and get some rest. You're doing him no good here." Farkas bit his bottom lip and his eyes moved back to the wolf in the cage, who was still pacing and was now hitting at his head and pulling on his ears but at least didn't seem to be harming himself any further.

"I don't want you being mean to him."

Vilkas rolled his eyes. "Oh yes, we can't have that. My words will accomplish what withdrawal and the beastblood have not. He will crumble into a tiny pile of tears and woe."

"Get out," Farkas growled. "Just get the fuck out." Vilkas didn't move, his expression tightening, and Farkas pointed at the exit and shouted, "Get out!" Edric covered his ears and yowled, and Farkas made a sound of worry and started for the cage. "It's okay, Edie honey," he soothed. "I didn't mean to yell. It's o—" The werewolf snarled and lunged at him, and he barely managed to fall back out of range of the sweep of claws. Farkas put his hands over his eyes and groaned, "Fuck, what am I gonna do?"

"I will keep my mouth shut," Vilkas mumbled guiltily. "You cannot stay here. Go and I swear to you that I will not say anything cruel to him. I will say nothing at all if I can help it." Farkas let his hands fall and turned and shoved the key into Vilkas' hand then walked quickly out of the cavern, a measure of just how very much at the end of his rope he was. Vilkas never would have imagined his brother getting worn down to the point of needing to get away from Edric, but no one could have stayed any longer than he had under these conditions. He would lose his mind if he did.

The outer door opened then closed, and Vilkas grumbled and shoved the key into a belt pouch as he went to sit in the chair that had been brought in the first day, wishing he had brought a book, but he hadn't exactly expected to be stuck here for hours. He leaned back and folded his arms and watched the wolf, who was staring at him with pure malevolence in its yellow eyes as it approached his side of the cage. It grabbed the bars and bared its teeth at him, letting out a long, low growl that echoed off the walls of the Underforge then tapered off with a soft booming sound. Vilkas lowered his eyes and looked away to avoid giving challenge, unable to keep a shudder of fearful distaste from running through him. This  _never_  should have happened. The creature was an utter abomination. The others had gotten exactly what they deserved in bringing the Dragonborn into the beast world. Dragon blood and wolf blood  _never_  should have been mixed, and the other three were idiots for thinking they could get away with it, and Edric was an idiot for downplaying the potential consequences. And Edric wasn't stupid. Vilkas knew damn well the younger man wasn't stupid, but he had some serious blind spots.

He heard a derisive huff then the shuffle of padded feet on stone as the creature began pacing again. Vilkas wished he'd had the presence of mind to ask just how long Edric had been in this form. He glanced over and took stock of the contents of the cage. Farkas had at least had the brains to keep the crate of potions and supplies outside the cage and out of Edric's reach, and while the bedding was thrown about and trampled on it didn't look shredded. Edric's clothes were, but at the moment it didn't matter, fur covering everything, and this form seemed more animal than man. As much as he hated to admit it even to himself, Vilkas was glad that Skjor and Aela had had the foresight to put the cage in here. They'd had that much at least in the way of brains.

It took nearly an hour of pacing and whining before Edric finally lowered himself to his hands and knees and began changing back. Vilkas tore his eyes away, feeling his skin itch and the beast pressing against his insides, begging to be let loose. The musky smell of werewolf was thick in the air, and he bent over and put his face in his hands and took deep breaths, feeling the ring on his finger, tight and confining. Strangling. It was silent for a moment then he heard a choked sob, then another, and he kept his eyes tightly shut.  _No no no, do not do that!_  he thought frantically.  _That_  he could not handle, hearing Edric cry. It was like hearing a woman cry, and it was something he simply couldn't bear, no matter how much of a jackass he often was.

"Farkas…"

Vilkas refused to respond, hoping the Dragonborn would crawl into the mussed nest of blankets and furs and just go to sleep.

"Farkas, please!" A little sob escaped, rumbling with the thu'um he couldn't control. "Stop ignoring me!"

Vilkas swallowed and lifted his head, and he shuddered at the sight of Edric pressed into the corner nearest him, staring at him with silver eyes in a tear-streaked face, clinging to the bars, naked and covered with scrapes, his hair lank and filthy. It was the most pitiful thing Vilkas had ever seen. He looked like someone being kept prisoner and abused, and it made the Companion's skin crawl to think of it. Well Edric  _was_  being kept prisoner, that much was true, but it was for his own good and the safety of the public. If he was so out of control that he couldn't even recognize his own lover then he wouldn't hesitate to kill others. Part of that was no doubt temporary, a side effect of getting off the booze, but the reasons didn't matter.

"I'll take the potion, I promise," Edric wept. "I just want to go back to sleep. Everything hurts."

The Companion nodded and rose from the seat, going to the box, his heart thudding in his chest and filled with such dread it was nauseating. Get the whelp back to sleep. He could do that. He could do that as long as Edric's confused belief that he was his twin didn't make the younger man do something that Vilkas would find extremely hard to ignore.

He poured exactly half a bottle of the concoction into the metal mug then brought it over and slowly knelt down, the Dragonborn's smell assaulting his nose, sweaty and sour, the smell of sickness, though nothing like Kodlak's had been. It wasn't the smell of death, but there was wrongness there, and permeating it all was the smell of wolf and dragon, the scent of pack and home mixed with the exotic. He put the mug through the bars and held it as Edric drank, his hands shaking so badly that he never would have been able to hold the mug on his own.

He moved to put the mug away but Edric whined and gripped his wrist with bruising strength, a pleading look in his eyes. Vilkas grit his teeth and set the mug aside and stayed put, letting Edric pull his hand to his face and hold it to his wet cheek.

"I said bad things to you, I know I did," the younger man quavered, shivering in the chill air of the cave, the stone floor cold against his bare skin. "I'm sorry,  _miingi_ , I'm so sorry, I love you and I'm s-sorry."

Edric's hands trembled as he brought Vilkas' hand to his mouth and kissed it, and the Companion fought the urge to yank it away and run. This was wrong, wrong, completely and utterly and totally wrong, and it  _hurt_. That arrow to the chest back in Dustman's Cairn had hurt less than this. He couldn't stand Edric, he truly couldn't, but it was wrong for anyone to be this miserable. He whispered, "It is…" He cleared his throat and tried to emulate his brother's speech patterns, something he hadn't done since they were teens. "It's okay. It's not your fault."

"I'm going crazy. I know I am. I'm going to end up like Mummy."

"No, it's the drink, that's all. It…it'll get better soon, you'll see."

"Don't leave me," Edric begged, looking up at him with eyes that were already growing glassy. "I didn't mean the things I said, I know it was bad, I don't hate you I love you I didn't mean it!"

"Shhh, go to sleep, uh…Edie," Vilkas muttered. "Everything's fine."

"Tell…tell me you llllove me," he slurred.

Vilkas stayed silent, trying to swallow down the tightness in his throat. Edric's grasp gradually loosened then the Dragonborn began sliding sideways, and the Companion felt a moment of panic until the smaller man thankfully got lodged in the corner, sparing him from smacking his head on the floor, though his face was smooshed against the bars and his mouth hanging open in a very unattractive fashion.

A drop of drool began collecting at the corner of Edric's mouth, and Vilkas quickly rose to his feet and scooped up the mug as a surge of anger that he knew was misplaced rushed through him. He wasn't even angry at Edric, he was just…angry. This was Edric's own fault, letting his drinking ever get so bad that this was required, and it was certainly his own damn fault he had taken the beastblood, but it wasn't right that the man was suffering in this way. No one should have to suffer through a hell like this. He put the cup away then fished out the key and unlocked the cage. Fucking barbaric, keeping someone like this. It had to be driving Farkas to distraction seeing his lover being kept here like an animal, going through something that would be horrific under normal circumstances, let alone these.

He went to the bedding and sorted it out, relieved to see that none of it was ripped or soiled beyond smelling of sweat and body oils. He moved to fetch Edric then stopped. "Fuck," he whispered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Fuck fuck fuck!" He threw his hands out and turned around to go fetch Skjor then stopped and turned back, then he turned around again, then he made a sound of frustration and faced Edric's back again. He could do this. It wasn't a big deal. He could manage this. He would just… just pick him up. Just like that. All naked and…naked.

Vilkas growled and went to the bedroll and pulled out one of the thinner blankets then rearranged the bedroll and pulled the top back, then he went to the young man and rolled him into the blanket and into the Companion's lap where he knelt, careful not to scrape up his face on the bars. Edric's head lolled back and he whimpered with a frown, sounding like a puppy. It was impossible not to pity him, even if he reeked worse than a bandit. He didn't look dirty as such, but he definitely needed a good soak. By Dibella he was pretty though. It was absolutely infuriating how lovely the man was, even with the scarring on his face.

Now that he could really see it up close, the remaining scarring was quite serious, covering his right cheek in shiny patches of dark pink burn marks, and a deeper scar ran across his nose towards his left eye. Vilkas still didn't understand why that wasn't healed first. If it had been him he would have wanted the entire face to get fixed before anything else. It made no sense. Edric had two eyes now, and that was good. The eye would have been the very first thing Vilkas would have insisted on, too. Light brown lashes were fanned out, long and with a hint of curl. Edric's hair was too greasy and sweaty at this point to have any wave to it. He would no doubt be very distressed when he came to his senses in another day or so and realized how filthy he was. The Dragonborn was borderline compulsive about his grooming and cleanliness, though at least he didn't need to shave.

He absentmindedly lifted a finger to stroke Edric's unblemished left cheek, and it truly was as soft as a woman's, like velvet, though the bones of his jaw were square. Such a small mouth too, the bottom lip much fuller than the top one. He was every bit as small and light as a Nord woman, but his shoulders were broad and his hips narrow, and…

"No," he spat, pulling the blanket tightly around Edric's waist. No, he wasn't that far gone. He refused to go down that road. Like it or not, the man was Farkas' partner, even if he was doomed to die in the war. He had to die, didn't he? How could he not, unable to heal, and he was so very small. Not compared to most of the other races, no, but to most Nord men he was. He barely topped the twins' shoulders, and right now, curled up like this…and smelling so terrible, and yet so good…and there was not a hint of liquor. Vilkas realized that for the first time he smelled no alcohol at all on the other man. Such a small thing, and yet it stunned him for a moment.

He gathered the Dragonborn into his arms and stood, and Edric's head shifted forward against Vilkas' neck, and he heard another wretched whimper of misery that tore his heart out. And he wasn't heartless. He really wasn't. Sometimes his head seemed determined to ignore that the heart was there, but that was something altogether different. He carried the young man to the bedroll and knelt down and laid him in it, resisting the compulsion to peel the blanket back. Satisfying his prurient curiosity would do him no favors at all. He was tormented enough as it was without adding to it deliberately.

He loosened the blanket enough that Edric wouldn't get strangled by it or tangled up in it, then he covered up the younger man and retreated back to the chair, locking the cage door behind him. It would figure if he fell asleep with the door open and Edric got out and went on a rampage through town. There were some in Whiterun who wouldn't be a loss, but a feral werewolf wasn't choosy.

Vilkas realized he had fallen asleep when he jerked awake at the sound of the outer door opening. He feared that Farkas was back already, that his brother had ignored Vilkas' good advice to take care of himself, but it was Aela, come to check on her pup. It was touching to see the concern there. She had always had an interest in the welfare of the newbloods, as all the Circle did, but this was personal for her.

"Ah, he's sleeping," she said with quiet satisfaction. "How did you manage that?"

"He thought I was Farkas," Vilkas stated sourly. "I will thank you to leave it at that." She lifted a curious eyebrow but did so. "What is my brother doing?"

"Eating. Trying to avoid questions. Generally being surly."

Vilkas grunted in acknowledgment. Skjor had basically told the juniors the truth: the ritual Edric had gone through to become a member of the Circle had pushed him into withdrawal and he had gotten violent and would be staying in the Underforge until he wasn't. Simple enough.

Aela went on, "Big lug is upset right now. Best let him be." She motioned with her head towards Edric. "Want me to take over?"

"I promised Farkas I would stay for a few hours. I will do so."

"Fair enough. Skjor and I will come around ten to relieve you. We're going to start planning out our next move against the Silver Hand. Some of my contacts have spotted activity in Gallows Rock, think they spotted Krev the Skinner. All four of us are going to hit them, and hit them hard."

"Aye." Vilkas just wanted to get the chore over with, so they could get all the pieces of Ysgramor's axe together. He had no use for vengeance or any loyalty to their kind, but he wanted Kodlak cured.

"Once the whelp is back on his feet. I don't like leaving Jorrvaskr unprotected by one of us, so he can stay back and do it. I wish he hadn't made that promise to the old man, but I respect his decision to stand by it."

Vilkas scowled in disbelief. "Surely they would not dare to strike at us here, in the city." Kodlak had always feared that if pushed the hunters might do so, but Vilkas found the probability low. They would risk attack by the city guards not to mention any citizen who could hold a weapon, which was most of them.

"After what they did to Farkas? I think they would dare quite a bit. We're not taking any chances. Skjor says Edric was adamant that we stop pestering them in ones and twos and deal with them as a group, and I can't fault his reasoning. Pup has those extra skills to take out an entire camp alone, but we don't." Vilkas rolled his eyes. "Well then, see you in a couple hours. I'll let Farkas know his man's sleeping finally." He nodded and she turned away, going to the side of the cage to listen for a moment to Edric's steady breathing, then she was gone.

Not an hour later Vilkas rose from his seat, restless and bored. If nothing else, he had plenty of time on his hands to do some exercises and stretches, routines he and Farkas had first learned as children but had used less as they grew older and became full Companions, the frequent training and jobs keeping them toned and limber. He had nothing else to do, and as he went through them he found himself calming and forgetting the time. Maybe he would even get a rare good night's sleep out of it, and hopefully not dream about feral werewolves tearing up his city, or his brother. How would Edric have ever lived with himself if he had killed Farkas? Vilkas wasn't so certain the man  _could_  live with that, if he was contemplating ending his life before Farkas started courting him.

Courting.  _Pah_. From what Vilkas could tell, his brother didn't seem to be doing a whole lot of that. The carved hawk, that was nice, he had to admit, but that had been as thanks for saving Farkas' life. The rabbit, well, he supposed a dog would consider it a fine offer, and Tilma planned to make a belt pouch out of the cured pelt for Edric. The comb and mirror, now that had been inspired, though Belethor had to take quite a bit of credit for the idea. It was a shame about the mirror breaking, and Vilkas wondered if the Khajiit could find a replacement. If they had found such glass once surely they could again. Perhaps he would mention it to Farkas at some point. But whatever was going on between the two hardly seemed like proper courting. There had been no flowers or dinners at the Bannered Mare. There had been the trip to the volcanic tundra in Eastmarch, but that too had been something else entirely, with Edric's birthday and the Gildergreen business the priority. Perhaps two men simply didn't court the way a man and woman would, though Edric was practically a girl at times with the way—

He sucked in a breath of surprise when he turned to find two silver eyes staring at him from under a heap of blankets and furs. The light blanket was up over Edric's head, leaving only his face exposed. His expression was miserable, heavy dark circles beneath his eyes. He looked like he'd been run over by a group of horkers.

"Where's Farkas?" he whispered.

"Sleeping, I hope," Vilkas replied just as quietly. Sound tended to echo badly in here, though the thick stone kept it contained at least, thank the Nine. "He needed a break."

Edric flinched, his eyes closing briefly before looking away. "I…see." He blinked rapidly, as if on the verge of tears. "Did I hurt him?"

"No, but you could have. You began shifting when you lost your temper with him and he barely made it out of the cage in time. Now do you see why you've been kept here?" Edric made a scoffing sound, refusing to meet Vilkas' eyes. He was trying to keep the edge out of his tone, but it was a massive effort to do so, no matter how the hangdog expression on the younger man's face hurt to see.

"I want out."

"No."

"I need a bath. I…" Edric shivered, a look of disgust crossing his face. "I can't…tolerate this. I  _need_  a bath. I need to get clean. I'm not…not clean."

"I cannot allow it," he stressed. "I am not without a heart. I take no pleasure from seeing you in there."

"You're a fucking liar."

Vilkas narrowed his eyes and stated, "That is not going to improve my disposition towards you. You are not getting out until you can prove you have control of your beast, and that is final."

"You'll let me out or I'll do it myself."

"Right," he drawled. "Unless you have shoved a set of lockpicks somewhere creative, I do not think—" The Dragonborn took an arm out of the blanket and cupped his hand, his brow furrowing as if he were attempting to focus and having trouble with it, and when brownish-orange light began to gather in his hand Vilkas yelped and ducked behind the font. There was a whoosh then a click, and he shot back upright to see the cage door swing open. "Son of a bitch," Vilkas muttered in wonder. Edric stayed where he was, pulling his arm back inside the blankets and staring expressionlessly at the Companion. He'd had no idea there was a spell to open locks. He'd never heard of such a thing, though honestly there were a great many things about magic he knew nothing about, and didn't want to. "So," he said slowly, "what now?"

"You're going to go get Farkas for me," Edric stated in a tone of eerie calm, his silver gaze unwavering. "He's going to help me inside to take a bath. Then he will bring me back here and lock me up again."

He exclaimed, "And what in Oblivion is the point of that when you can break out whenever you'd like!" The thought was terrifying, that Edric could have gotten out at any point.

"I can't, or I would have. Magic requires concentration. I can barely focus right now. I can't at all if I'm sick or dangerous. I don't trust myself. All I want is a bath and clean bedding."

"Fine," he said with a nod. He couldn't argue that, and it seemed a small thing to ask. "Aela and Skjor will be here soon to take over. When they do I will tell Farkas you need him." He narrowed his eyes. "And then you will let him finish out the night in his own bed so he can rest. He has taken care of you continuously for four days. He is exhausted." Edric's stony expression fell, and when that full bottom lip stuck out and his chin started to tremble Vilkas covered his eyes with one hand and couldn't bear to look. He could handle the younger man's anger and snottiness, but not this.

"Just…just leave him. I'm…fine. D-don't say anything to him, I'll just…go back to sleep."

The stilted words and trembling voice were oozing with guilt that was hard to listen to, and when Vilkas heard soft crying again he lowered his hand. Edric was sitting there bundled in the blankets like a child, his eyes squeezed shut and tears running down his face. "Ah shit, don't do that," Vilkas whispered. The young man ignored him, and he went into the cage and stood there for a moment then knelt down. "Do you need a drink of water? Are you hungry?"

"It isn't fair," Edric moaned, as if not hearing him. "It isn't fair to him. He shouldn't have to deal with this. With me."

The statement was all too close to the thoughts that had frequently rattled around Vilkas' head since Edric had shown up, but he'd be damned if he agreed. He was a bastard at times but even he couldn't bring himself to kick the man when he was down like this. It was one thing when Edric was being confrontational or angry to pick at him, but not now. "It is his choice," he stated. "Farkas knew what he was getting into." He had to hand his brother that. Farkas had always been agreeable, avoiding most confrontations, at least with Vilkas, but when he decided something that was it and he didn't waver from it.

"I didn't think it would be this hard. I can't stand this." Edric opened his eyes and pleaded with Vilkas, "Knock me out, please. I can't handle it."

"Handle what? You're coherent. You shouldn't take the potion unless you need it."

"What I need is a drink," the smaller man said with a touch of anger. "I need it so bad right now that it's all I can think about."

"Then you must distract yourself from it."

Edric shook his head at him, a look of contempt on his face. "Gee, I never thought of that. Who knew it was so easy all these years?"

Vilkas' lips flattened out as he resisted retorting in a nasty manner. "So why did you ever start?" he asked. To tell the truth he really did want to know. He couldn't understand why Edric had ever allowed himself to get into a habit that affected every part of his life. The man obviously had massive amounts of willpower. It just didn't make sense.

"I was a kid. Why do kids do any of the stupid things they do?" he growled, wiping the tears from his face with abrupt motions. "I was in the Legion. Everyone was drinking. When we weren't working we were partying. It's just how it is."

The Companion shook his head, saying, "I don't understand why you even would. Join, that is. Why you stayed. If you rebelled at Helgen, why did you stay so long?" Edric's eyes shifted away and he looked deeply unhappy, and uncomfortable. "The Legion should not even take in boys that age. Girls, whatever. Sixteen is too young to be a soldier."

"I wasn't killing people at that age. The recruits are kept separate from the others." He narrowed his eyes. "If you think you're going to find some hidden gem of a reason for my little problem you'll be disappointed. I wasn't abused. I wasn't raped or molested. There isn't some secret torment I tried to drown out. I got into a bad habit, nothing more."

"My question was legitimate," Vilkas replied. "I only wanted to know why you joined an organization where you would be forced to follow orders the rest of your career. You clearly are shit at doing what you're told."

Edric laughed, surprisingly, and reached up out of the blanket to scratch his chin. "I follow orders that make sense to me." He pulled the blankets closer and shrugged. "I don't regret my service at all. I learned a lot there. Most of what I know, really. Learned to fight properly, learned to cast, spells they don't teach up here, like the one that opened the lock. There were a lot of spellswords there. Anyone who could follow that path was encouraged to take it. Lose your weapon, you've got your magic. Run out of magicka, you have your sword. Comrade falls in battle you'll be able to heal him or her. Or heal yourself." He shrugged again, looking past Vilkas at the font. "We were in high demand. I was good at it. Damn good. Anyone else would've gotten drummed out with the shit I pulled."

The Companion didn't ask what shit exactly that was, afraid to throw the other man off his narrative and make him think about liquor again. And this was interesting. There were so many things he had wanted to know about the Dragonborn, and the strong dislike between the two of them always got in the way. And it would again, no doubt about it, but for now there was a truce, even if it only lasted a few minutes. He asked, "How did you know you could do magic?"

"A lot of people can, if they apply themselves. Being Nord doesn't matter. Nords aren't as naturally gifted as some of the races, but those who are good are very good."

"Why would you even want to use magic?"

Edric frowned up at him. "Why wouldn't I? It's a tool. It's useful. Nords always used magic until a couple hundred years ago. The Skaal still use magic. Why would anyone stop using a thing because someone else misused it? So Elves use magic, and Nords dislike Elves. Elves use swords and bows too, so let's stop using those why don't we? Some of the greatest mages in human history were Nord, you know."

"And you saw them in Sovngarde," Vilkas muttered. It wasn't a line of thought he wanted to keep following. He changed the subject and said, "Ysgramor was there. You saw him? Talked to him?"

"Aye. He was huge. A giant of a man. A few of the other old ones there were too, enormous men and women. Atmorans, maybe? I…didn't ask. It was…" He trailed off with a grunt. His brow furrowed and he sank deeper into the blankets. "Anyway," he whispered. He grimaced, almost as if in pain. Beads of sweat were forming on his upper lip.

"I will get water." Vilkas rose, feeling a quiet despair that was hard to place. He could have slapped a hand to his forehead when he realized it, as he poured a mug of water then pocketed a half-full bottle of sedative, just in case. Sovngarde. Ralof. There probably wasn't a worse topic he could have broached while the Dragonborn was feeling morose. The conversation up to then though, it had been good. Pleasant. Fascinating even. He knew without a doubt that he could probably bring up almost any topic and Edric would be able to speak intelligently about it. In his ten years in the Legion the man had probably been all over Tamriel and picked up all sorts of interesting bits of knowledge, and after becoming Dragonborn he must have seen wonders that most men could only dream of. Well, no, not  _becoming_  Dragonborn, since he had been born that way. Realizing, perhaps. Had Edric always known he was different from other men? Or was it something that had awoken after taking down that first dragon, here in Whiterun Hold?

When he returned the blankets were pooled around Edric's waist and he was staring at his arms out in front of him with wide, horrified eyes. "What is wrong?" Vilkas asked. "Why do you look like that?"

"It isn't real, right?" he whispered. "Tell me they aren't real."

"There's nothing there, only your arms." The Companion sighed when Edric raised a hand then slapped his forearm, several times, as if smashing bugs, his eyes owlish and dilated. Who knew, maybe he really was seeing and feeling bugs on his skin. If he felt as dirty as he smelled he very well could be itching, and his unsettled mind was supplying the rest. "Drink this," he ordered, holding out the cup. "It's only water."

"I've got to get out of here," Edric said in a voice tinged with panic.

"Perhaps you should go back to sl—"

"I'm not delusional, asshole," he snarled. "I know they're not real. I need a bath."

Vilkas retorted, "And how do I know that the second you leave here you won't harm someone? Do you know for certain that you won't?" The anger drained from Edric's face, quickly replaced with the pouting lip and glossy eyes. He grumbled against the reluctant pull of it and held out the water. "You need to drink. You will get dehydrated. And you need to eat. You've eaten once in the last four days." Edric wasn't a stout man and didn't have the reserves to go without like that, and much of his intake before this had probably been in the form of liquor and not actual food. He did look thinner than before. Werewolves had a bit faster metabolism than normal folk, and who knew what being Dragonborn as well meant in that regard.

"I want real food," the Dragonborn muttered as he took the mug. "I want…" He bit his lip then shook his head and drained the mug.

"Meat. Yes, you will get meat."

Edric stared at him warily then gave back the mug. "Why?" What the man was getting at was obvious.

"Like it or not, you are my brother in the blood, and while I definitely do not like it, you will one day be my brother by marriage as well. I will not have it said that I knowingly allowed kin to suffer." He looked away from the Dragonborn's confusion, his tongue in his cheek for a moment before he added in a guilty mutter, "Regardless of Torvar's actions that day, I attacked a shield-sibling without cause. I raised arms against one who had yielded. If you had pressed the issue I could have been cast out of the Companions for it. I got out of it much more lightly than I should have."

"Is that all it is, then?"

He growled, "What are you getting at, whelp?" As if he wanted to know. He feared that he really, really did not. Surely Edric wouldn't go there. Not now, in such a private setting. Not now, when they were getting along, if only for a few minutes.

"You're being much too calm, Vilkas," Edric said in a thoughtful tone. He wiped his forehead and upper lip then cleared his throat. "Could I have more water?  _Please_."

"Aye." He rose and fetched another drink, feeling uneasy. He did feel fairly calm, actually, and he wasn't sure why. Edric wasn't aggravating him even half as much as he usually did. Even looking at the Dragonborn or knowing he was around was sure to raise his hackles. He returned and Edric looked flushed, his eyes glassy, and he was still sweating, but he seemed lucid. When he reached out to take the water his hands were shaking like an old man's, and Vilkas kept hold of the mug as Edric drank. His hands were hot around Vilkas' own. His smell was distasteful, days' worth of sweat and sickness, but there was something disgustingly appealing about it, the reek of male wolf and the dusty spice of dragon, mixing together into a scent that was uniquely Edric. The smell of wolf was strongest, no surprise considering even normal folk could detect it in werewolves who didn't wash after shifting. The smell though…so strange, how it was obviously male, and yet…not. Not completely.

Vilkas froze in realization just as Edric finished drinking then wrinkled his nose and tested the air. The newborn frowned in confusion as his hands fell away from the mug, then Edric's expression grew tense as he leaned back slightly. So that was it, then. Smell. The strongest sense a wolf had, and the part of their curse that Vilkas detested almost more than the inability to sleep well. Vilkas' beast liked Edric's new scent, just as he had feared. It knew he was part of the pack. Kin. And maybe that was why Edric was halfway behaving himself, with little of his usual backtalk, because his wolf smelled the similar blood in Vilkas. Lovely.

He rose to put the mug back and heard Edric mumble, "I don't want anyone to see me like this."

"The juniors are all abed well before midnight." He tossed the mug into the crate, shaking his head, and replaced the potion as well, seeing as how the man was sane for now. "You should not have taken the blood. You will never get a good night's sleep again."

"You're assuming I slept like a baby before this," Edric said in derision. "You can't go through the things I have and sleep well. I would rather dream of the hunt than Apocrypha, or my dead husband or getting my face burned off, thank you." Vilkas winced and nodded slowly, and the Dragonborn wiped fresh sweat off his face and went on in a tense tone, "You don't get it, why I did this. You  _can't_  get it."

"I can get a lot of things. I am not stupid, whelp."

"No, you're not stupid, and I never said you were. At least I don't think I did." He shoved his greasy hair back then made a sound of disgust and rubbed his arms. "I've got to get out of here," he whispered.

"No," Vilkas said shortly. "Not yet." He sat down in the nearby chair, leaning forward to put his forearms on his knees to watch the Dragonborn for any signs that the cage needed to be locked. He looked too ill at the moment to go anywhere. "You already told me why you took the blood, the night you took it."

"Yeah, I did, and you still don't get it. If you did you wouldn't have said what you just did." Edric shook his head and looked at Vilkas in exasperation. "You think any of the so-called negatives you've listed apply to someone like me? They don't. Bad sleep? I already have that. My soul belonging to Hircine? Better him than Hermaeus Mora, or any of the others I've dealt with, but it would've been Old Mora who had the strongest claim, and I am  _not_  going back to Apocrypha."

Vilkas said in confusion, "But…you are Dragonborn. Your soul would have been bound for Sovngarde."

"It would have if I hadn't fucked around with Hermaeus Mora, not once but twice. I read the Oghma Infinium." At Vilkas' clueless shake of the head he went on, "It's a book. His book. He gave me a choice of which path to follow. I chose the Path of Might, the path of the warrior, and he called me his Champion, and I told him to fuck off and he laughed. I could've left it at that, but I went to Solstheim, and there he was again, and I willingly read five of his Black Books. I hunted them down deliberately. You warned me that being a werewolf would make me hunger for meat and blood, well I hungered for power and knowledge, and that is a hunger less easily satisfied." He shivered and pulled the blankets up around himself again. "I gave the warm and fuzzy answer, the night I joined. I thought it was the one everyone would best understand, but maybe you don't. You've spent your entire life here, in Jorrvaskr. You always had a roof over your head and enough to eat. You lived inside city walls, patrolled by city guards, in a hall full of warriors, always safe, always sheltered. You had a father, and sure, he was hard on you, but he was  _there_ , and he was actually paying attention to what you were doing and where you were. You were the son of a Companion and no one bullied you. You always had your brother there. You always had stability and security."

Vilkas stared at him in astonishment, then he scowled and said, "My father was an asshole. I hated him."

"Then why were you so upset when he left?"

He sat up in the chair, feeling hot all over, finding the anger that he had managed to misplace for the last few hours. The creepy, intense way Edric was staring at him didn't help matters. "You have no idea what you're talking about," he stated heatedly.

Edric shrugged one shoulder. "Suit yourself. Latch onto that one thing and ignore the rest. I had many reasons for taking the beastblood, getting back on topic. I think they're very good reasons, actually."

"Did you discuss them with my brother?"

"No, not really. I didn't want him to feel like he was influencing my decision. He was a factor, but in the big scheme of things not the biggest one."

The Companion huffed in disbelief, appalled by the cold way the statement was delivered.

Edric snorted a wry laugh. "This is nice, brother. You're distracting me from wanting a drink, and I'm distracting you from your insanity."

"Balgruuf was right: you are a monster." The Dragonborn laughed more fully at that, and Vilkas was certain he wasn't imagining the hint of condescension there. That laugh though, it was like temple bells ringing, and that smile the auroras dancing. It was fucking unfair. "My brother is not a 'factor', damn it," he spat. "You speak of him like that and wonder why I don't trust your intentions towards him."

"Everyone and everything is a factor. How long do you think I would have lived if I didn't weigh things in that manner? I let my heart overrule my head once in making a major life choice, with Ralof, and I've paid for it ever since. I'll keep paying for it as long as I live."

That he would, unable to magically heal, scarred and with lingering pain. Vilkas sat back and folded his arms, motioning to Edric's face then folding them again. "I don't get it," he muttered. "This healer you saw. Why couldn't she fix your face?"

"Who said she couldn't?"

Vilkas' mouth fell open. "This…you left it like this on purpose?" he breathed. Edric shrugged but didn't deny it. Vilkas nearly asked why, in fact he was desperate to know why, but he was already struggling with the things the younger man had told him. Speaking frankly like this, with little animosity between them, had been as interesting as he had hoped, but it was also deeply unsettling. He had always known there were disturbing things lurking behind that pretty but damaged face. Finding out that damage was deliberate was more than he could handle. What would possess someone so lovely to leave themselves marred when they didn't have to? Was it self-hatred? Some kind of self-imposed penance for something? For… Ah. Well, that made sense. A sick sort of sense, but sense all the same. Ralof was dead, so what were scars in comparison? This way he could wear his mistakes like some kind of badge, for everyone to see, and a reminder to himself perhaps of how he had fucked up. There was something incredibly vulgar and self-absorbed about it, if Vilkas was right, and maybe he wasn't, but either way, whatever the reasons they were ones born of a sick mind.

Edric smirked at him then sighed and laid down on the bedroll, wrapped in the blankets. "I don't expect you to approve," he said tiredly. "It's my face."

"I…suppose, however I think my brother deserves to know that you left yourself disfigured on purpose."

"Do you think that would make him feel less sorry for me, or more?" Vilkas made a sputtering sound, sneering at him, and he went on, "I love him. I don't expect you to ever approve of that either, but that's not relevant. That you find it so hard to believe that I could truly love someone like your brother is insulting. To him, not me." He reached down and pulled up the fur then burrowed in again.

It was silent for nearly half a minute, for so long that Vilkas thought Edric might have fallen asleep, then he heard a grumble of discomfort a second before the Dragonborn rolled over.

"I fucking stink," he growled.

"Aela and Skjor will be here soon."

"I don't want you waking Farkas. I'll have them take me in."

"Aye." It was a relief to hear that Edric wasn't quite  _that_  selfish. Into the quiet Vilkas ventured in a sullen tone, "My brother is a good man. There is no reason someone would not…care for him, however he is-"

"Don't say it," Edric warned. "You say he's dumb or 'limited' or whatever you were about to say and I will come over there and  _thrash_  you. And I'll do it naked too, asshole."

Vilkas spat, "I don't want him taken advantage of!" He expected answering anger from Edric but didn't get it, though there was cold annoyance in the other man's voice.

"Ah yes, my nefarious plan to snag myself a Companion. My titles and properties and caches of wealth spread out all over the country aren't enough, really, and gods know I could never find a handsome man any other way, especially with my face like this. I mean, it's not like I had people throwing themselves at me constantly when no one even knew what I looked like, so of  _course_  I'm going to go through all this hassle, mainly you and Torvar, just to get in Farkas' pants." He put a finger on his chin and went on, "I woke up one morning and told myself, 'Gee, I'm gonna get me a Companion! I've collected one of everything else already!'"

"I hate you," Vilkas muttered. Edric chuckled without remorse. By the Nine the man was an intolerable smart ass. Skjor and Aela could not get here anywhere near soon enough.

"Farkas isn't stupid," the Dragonborn stated, amusement gone. "He's measured. I can talk to him and he listens. He isn't just sitting there passively with a blank expression, he's  _listening_. He doesn't say much at times but he's still thinking. He puts consideration into things. I'm never completely at rest, never totally calm, never purely happy, never satisfied with anything, but when he's there things go quiet. Quieter, anyway. For the first time in my life there's someone who centers and calms me, and maybe sometimes it's against my will but I need that." He sighed under the covers. "I came here to get Kodlak off my back. I was going to put in my time, pay my dues and go. I had no intention of getting involved with anyone, not here, not ever again. Farkas though… I could tell he was handsome. I run into handsome guys all the time. But he decided that he wanted me and that I needed him. He made his case and I thought about it, then I accepted, and here we are. I love him, and maybe it isn't the way I loved Ralof, not yet, but it's more real, and you'd better not question my so-called intentions towards him ever again."

Vilkas grunted in reply. That was all he could do. Edric fussed in the bedroll for a while then went still, his breathing evening out, finally asleep, and blessedly silent.

There were the occasional whimpers or twitches over the next half hour or so, but other than that Edric stayed down and out. All Vilkas wanted right now was to leave. His mind was churning with the things the Dragonborn had told him, and he didn't have that mad anger to buffer him against any of it, his wolfish senses betraying him into tolerating the whelp, for now. At least Edric had seemed to finally turn a corner, as far as his recovery, though it was probably too soon to tell, so Vilkas might not have to sit with him again like this. He hoped he didn't. He didn't want to be forced to sit here listening to Edric expounding on things and trying to sound so goddamn wise.

The Harbinger and the Huntress took their sweet time showing up, and the grinding of the door woke Edric from a restless sleep. Aela went directly to him as he sat up, and when she touched his forehead to test his temperature he whined and leaned toward her, pressing his forehead into her shoulder. She held her hands up as if uncertain what to do with them, or him, then she slowly put her arms around him.

Skjor smiled slightly and said to Vilkas, "Isn't that sweet. A dam and her pup."

"Shove it, old man," Aela muttered at him. She touched Edric's hair, holding up a lank section of it. "This is disgusting. You've been in here long enough."

Vilkas stated, "He can bathe but then he's coming back here and getting locked up again. He can't control his beast yet, and he was still hallucinating earlier."

"Well he isn't now, and who are you, the resident jailor?" She turned back to Edric, pushing him out at arm's length, her hands on his shoulders. He stared at her with an anxious, miserable expression. "I'm getting him out of here. He's filthy and he's lost weight. Staying in here won't help his recovery any. If he gets antsy I'll keep him in line."

The Companion said in a heated, worried tone, "Did my brother not tell you what he did? He went crazy when he didn't get his way and turned on Farkas. He could have gutted my brother. He was taking swings at Farkas from inside the cage. My brother's arm is already scarred from the whelp biting him!"

"What?" Edric gasped. Skjor looked pointedly at Vilkas and shook his head. "What did I do?" Edric insisted, looking horrified and upset, his eyes starting to glisten. He turned his gaze on Aela and whispered, "I hurt Farkas?"

She stated, "You had no idea what you were doing, and he was changed and trying to wrestle you. He and Skjor both were and you defended yourself. End of story."

The Harbinger moved close to the newblood and knelt then said in a lowered voice, "You are going to have a long road ahead of you if you start blaming yourself for what you do while changed, lad. Don't do that to yourself."

"I could've killed him," the Dragonborn whispered. He sat back in the nest of blankets and drew up his knees and put his hands in his hair then made a sound of disgust and took them out to look at them. His hands were shaking again. "I can't. Deal with this. I can't. Knock me out again. Please."

"Look lad—"

" _Knock me out!"_  he snarled with a clap of thunder, baring his teeth, then he drew in a breath of shock and blinked and slowly pulled in on himself.

"Good," Aela murmured in approval. "Recognize the signs and stop it early on. Just a little earlier next time." Edric refused to meet anyone's eyes, his cheeks reddening. She gently clapped him on the shoulder and said, "Get dressed. Skjor and I will take you down to wash. You'll feel much better for it."

Skjor added, "We'll show you to your new room after that. Athis and Ria helped Tilma clean it out. Seems my housekeeping wasn't up to their standards. Ria said to tell you she killed all the spiders in there." Edric shuddered, his nose wrinkled. "Lass has driven us all up the wall waiting for you to get out." The young man gave him a twitch of a smile and nodded. "Njada moved your things in, but I have to warn you she put them where  _she_  thought they needed to go."

Edric asked with worry, "What did you tell them? About why I've been stuck in here."

"The truth, of a sort. When you went through the ritual to join the Circle it caused you go to into withdrawal and you couldn't be moved. It's always been known that something is done to new members that causes their eyes to change, a ceremony. None of them questioned it." He huffed, pursing his lips. "Not sure how we're supposed to deal with future members who refuse to take the blood and  _don't_  get silver eyes."

Aela snorted in contempt. "Don't offer membership to anyone we think might not take it," she stated curtly. "We still give a choice as Kodlak wanted, but don't bring in anyone we think might refuse. Simple enough."

"I am done here," Vilkas said in aggravation. That was not at all what Kodlak had wanted. It was completely skirting the intent of the entire agreement. To think that this vicious cycle was going to continue endlessly, against Kodlak's wishes, against all common sense, was more than he could take.

Skjor waved him off without a glance, he and Aela too focused on their precious newblood, and Vilkas sneered and quickly left the Underforge, finding the place unsettling now, after what had been going on there the last four days. It seemed as if the place would now be permanently tainted by Edric's blood and vomit and suffering, and the cage would always be there as well, as a reminder. Vilkas was sure of that. Maybe it had been brought in for him, something that still pissed him off, but it had been a useful thing to have in place.

The junior Companions were all in bed and the mead hall was quiet, even the tireless Tilma finally asleep in her room by the kitchen. Vilkas glanced at the tables on the way past and saw that indeed one end was completely clear of alcohol, as Skjor had promised, and as he made his way downstairs he saw that all the random bottles that were usually left about for convenience were all gone. It infuriated him for a moment, that so much effort was being made just to make darling little Edric comfortable. Would it really be so impossible for him to just not pick up a bottle and drink it?

He veered off to look into the Dragonborn's new room, the room that should have been Athis', unable to help being curious even in his irritation. The furniture had been rearranged from the way Skjor had kept it for the last twenty-some years, probably in some attempt to make it Edric's own. The carved hawk was sitting on the beside table and Edric's amulet of Kyne was looped around it. He snorted at the thought of Njada doing a thing so outside her character. He knew that the room had been in the process of getting cleaned out the last few days, but he hadn't noticed much more activity than that, though he hadn't exactly been paying attention either. It wouldn't have been hard to miss the sound of furniture being moved about through thick stone walls. The double bed was now centered on the wall instead of to one side, as if to make it easier for two people to get in and out of it, and it wasn't hard to guess who would start regularly spending the night in it very shortly.

He rubbed a hand over his face then kept it there, fighting the anger that was coming back with a vengeance, now that there weren't any interesting smells to keep it in check. It was so hard to resist, so tempting to give in to it and let it carry him away, something addictive about the surge of adrenaline it caused. He was losing his brother a little at a time to the whelp. Just losing him in general. A tiny voice, a pesky voice, asked him if he would be so aggravated by it if Farkas had become enamored of a woman instead, of anyone else but Edric. It wasn't as if he had any actual issue with same-gendered couples, on general principle. It wasn't as if he hadn't bedded men himself when he was younger, but he had never entertained falling in love with another man let alone marrying one. And he knew to some extent you couldn't help who you fell for, up to a point. He  _knew_  that. But Farkas' love for Edric ruined everything, all the plans they had made together.

Except…they had never really been Farkas' plans, had they?

Farkas had always said  _Sure Vilkas_ , or  _That sounds kinda nice_ , or  _I guess that would be okay_. Farkas had never brought it up himself. Farkas had never added to those plans or seemed excited about them, only acquiescent. Vilkas could see in hindsight that Farkas had always been a certain way and had simply taken the path of least resistance all these years. His eyes never lingered on women. They never had, but from the moment he had laid eyes on Edric he had been smitten. And Edric loved Farkas in return. The Dragonborn had always been so guarded about it around Vilkas, or smart assed, but tonight he had been plainly honest. It had been moving to hear Edric speak of Farkas in such a way, and with a jolt of realization he knew it was because he felt the same way about his brother. Farkas was his rock, his island of calm. Or he had been.

He dropped his hand and headed to his room, the anger gone, replaced with grief and loneliness. Yes, he was losing his brother, and he supposed it was simply the way of things. They were both far past the usual age of taking a wife, or a spouse rather, and while it seemed Vilkas would never have that comfort, he had no right to deny his twin, because as someone had told him once not so long ago, if he really, truly loved Farkas he would want him to be happy. Edric made Farkas happy, for now. Once they bonded they would have no choice but to be happy with each other, for as long as either of them lived, and it was a given that Edric would go first, in the war. Plenty of people survived wars, but the High Elves would go directly after him on the battlefield, if they had any brains, and if nothing else Altmer had those.

Edric would die and Farkas would be broken, and…and nothing really would change for Vilkas. He would still have no wife, would do his best to pick up the pieces, even with his seeming inability to be comforting. He had been better at it once. He thought he remembered that he had been. He would try to help Farkas cope with his loss, if it happened, try to help his brother through it, try not to be selfish. He had thought once to push Farkas towards Narri, once Edric was gone, using that promise he kept in reserve, but how could he do that, when his brother didn't even like women all that much, when his brother would be grieving the loss of a mate? Vilkas had never encountered a mated werewolf couple, but Aela insisted it was a permanent bond, one that reached into one's very soul and sank its hooks in, removable only by death.

He paused outside Farkas' door and heard deep, even breathing, the sleep of the exhausted. He went inside his room, closed his door and locked it, pulled off his boots and put on his nightclothes and got into bed, and he stared at the ceiling feeling strange and dissociated, calm but vaguely uneasy. Why was he so calm? He should be pacing the floor right now, or punching the living daylights out of the training dummy, and instead he simply felt calm, the calmest he had felt in months, since Edric had shown up and Farkas had started acting like a lovesick teen. But then the love was real, wasn't it? Watching his brother spend the last four days tenderly and patiently caring for Edric had shown just how true the feelings were, and then tonight for the first time Edric had spoken plainly of his own feelings in return.

Farkas wasn't simply infatuated, and Edric wasn't using him. Vilkas had his own eyes and his own memories telling him that Farkas had never honestly found women all that attractive. And yes, even if he'd been an asshole about it, Edric was right that he could have had anyone, simply because of what he was, no matter what he looked like. If the love between the two men was genuine, which it appeared to be, as Kodlak had attested to, as even Aela had noticed, if Kodlak had given his blessing to the match, then that left Vilkas with all his protests and fussing boiling down to being all about him. Selfish. Petty. Small.

Shuddering, he rolled over and faced the wall. He wasn't selfish. He knew he wasn't, or he hadn't been, but it was so hard. Hard to remember how he used to be, how he used to feel, before the wolf inside him had gone mad from being caged for so long. He had been dependable, and honorable. He had been trusted. He could be that man again, if he got rid of the beastblood. He had vowed that he wouldn't get cured until Farkas did, but there was no way Farkas would do it now, unless Edric found his beast hard to manage and one day decided to get cured as well, and how could Vilkas wait that long, for a day that might never come? If he did he would be doing exactly what Edric had accused him of: holding everyone hostage to his temper, holding everyone prisoner to the ebb and flow of his instability.

"Bastard," he whispered. By the Nine, he hated the bastard for being right. The Dragonborn was a temperamental, self-righteous little shit, but he had an uncanny way of seeing right through Vilkas that was chilling at times.

Well then, perhaps he should start thinking towards the cure. With nearly the entire pack focusing on the Silver Hand they could end the hunters easily, and if they were lucky enough to obtain all the pieces of Wuuthrad and somehow Eorlund could reforge the ancient weapon, Edric could fetch the heads of the Glenmoril Witches with little effort and the cure would be in their hands. Saving Kodlak's soul would be the first order of business, of course. It was freezing up there in Winterhold, where Ysgramor's Tomb lay, so it wasn't as if they couldn't keep all the heads preserved there, for when Vilkas felt ready to be free of the beastblood. Perhaps once Edric went off to war. The last thing he wanted was to be looking into that smug prick's face when he did it. Maybe he and Farkas could go together, just the two of them, as it certainly wasn't the kind of journey one made alone. Even if Farkas didn't want the cure, he would still be supportive of Vilkas' desire for it.

Feeling satisfied, he quickly dropped off to sleep. The usual restlessness plagued him, and he swore he heard Farkas' door open and close at one point during the night. It briefly aggravated him, thinking his brother was interrupting his rest to undoubtedly check on Edric, but he dropped off to sleep again before the thought could fully take hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dovahzul:  
> miingi - honey/my honey (It seems at some point the Dovahzul website has changed some of the words, retiring ones like miing in favor of newer versions that make more linguistic sense. I've already used it so much at this point that I'm sticking with it instead of tolal which is the current word for honey.)


	30. Chapter 30

**Farkas**

He couldn't do it. He just couldn't. There was no way he could sleep comfy and clean in his own bed when his man was stuck naked and filthy in a cage. It just wasn't going to happen. He felt better for taking a bath and eating a good meal and getting half a night's uninterrupted sleep, he had to admit that, and he didn't feel guilty for it, but he would if he stayed in here. Jorrvaskr was still silent, and when he left his room he saw Vilkas' door closed, telling him it was still early morning. Tilma wasn't up yet either, so it was really early.

He turned into the main hallway of the living quarters and was surprised to see Skjor's, no Edric's, door closed. The older man had been sleeping in the Harbinger's quarters the last few nights, and the junior members had finished Edric's room early yesterday, from what Ria said. At least he had gathered that one comment out of the onslaught of questions and comments from the girl, and the other two.

Three full-fledged members. That was what they were down to. That wasn't good. That wasn't good at all. How were they supposed to get jobs done like this? Especially when most of the Circle would be off hunting the Silver Hand? It would leave Edric here on his own with three warriors to get things done, one of whom was still very young and wet behind the ears. Farkas didn't doubt his mate would make it work; the Dragonborn was an experienced adventurer and soldier and had commanded entire regiments of Ulfric's army, so he could manage coordinating jobs and looking after Jorrvaskr. Or at least he could once he was mostly recovered, and there was no telling when that would be. Today had been bad, really bad, as far as Edric refusing to be sedated and getting so confused and angry that he had shifted, but…maybe it was also a good thing? That he had felt good enough physically to do that?

Farkas crossed the hall and heard soft voices, Edric's and Aela's, and he chewed nervously on this bottom lip, wondering why Edric was inside the hall. Wondering why Aela was risking this and wondering why Skjor had allowed it, if he knew. The Harbinger's doors were closed, so it was probably only the Huntress in there to keep Edric contained if he changed, and how would she do that if Farkas and Skjor together could barely do it?

He moved silently to the door and listened but couldn't make out the words, only the tone: surprising patience from Aela, and anxiety from Edric. Anxiety was bad. Anxiety was stress, and stress could bring on the change, and that would be a disaster in here, and why was Aela taking the chance?

The Companion knocked on the door and heard a bolt drawn back, Aela able to sense who he was, and when he came in he saw his mate pacing the floor, barefoot, in an old tunic and pants, his hair a mess but clean. He had obviously bathed and the remnants of a plate of food were on the desk, along with two and a half bottles of the sleeping potion. Aela shut and locked the door and put her back to it, looking tired but determined, her eyes never leaving Edric.

"Good to see you, brother," she stated, her words loaded with meaning that wasn't hard to get.

"Just come out and say it," Edric spat, then he whined loudly and ran his fingers through his hair and turned in a circle before resuming his pacing. "Fuck, I can't stand this!" he whimpered. "I can't do it, Aela!"

"Yes you can," Aela said in a firm tone. "You will."

"How am I supposed to live like this?"

"It won't always be this way. A few more days and it will get more manageable. Ria seemed sure of that."

 _Oh_ , Farkas thought in realization, a bit of the guilt easing. He'd been sure Edric was complaining about the beastblood, but it was drink. Of course it was. Arcadia had said the need for it would be bad at first, and she had reminded him of that tonight when he went to drop off some coin and thank her for her help. She'd warned Farkas that Edric wouldn't be himself, that he might say cruel things or get aggressive. And he had, earlier, before getting enraged and changing, but he hadn't been all there yesterday. He seemed rational right now, though, even if he hadn't looked Farkas' way even once yet.

"I can't spend a few more days like this!" Edric cried, turning on her. "I'm going to lose my fucking mind!" His eyes then fell on Farkas, and the Dragonborn stared at him with an anguished expression then it shuttered and he looked away, rubbing his arms then picking nervously at one sleeve, his cheeks turning pink.

"Edie honey," Farkas whispered, but Edric shook his head and hunched his shoulders as he turned away. Hurt, Farkas stared at his lover's back, watching the younger man retreat to a chair in the corner and curl in on himself, his legs drawn up, his body turned to the wall. Aela gave him a shove, motioning for him to go to his mate, and he huffed in annoyance at her. "He doesn't want me here," he mumbled. The comment made Edric flinch then pull in on himself further. Well, it was the truth. Edric was probably sick of him after the last four days. And maybe Farkas had gotten a little sick of him too. It was horrible to even think of it. It made him feel like a traitor.

"Idiot," Aela muttered, rolling her eyes. She grabbed his thick wrist and pulled him over to the corner then pushed down on his shoulders to make him kneel by the chair, and he grumbled and did as directed. She squatted down and slapped the back of her hand against Edric's shoulder. "Hey, pup. Eyes over here."

"Leave me alone," the young man whined.

"I said  _eyes over here_."

To Farkas' shock Edric winced then did what he was told. Granted, most people did what Aela wanted when she used that tone of voice, which was frankly a little scary, but Edric didn't mind anyone all that well and wasn't scared of anyone either. She was his forebear though, so maybe that was it. Maybe she was the only one Edric would listen to right now. His eyes met hers, and Farkas' face fell at the dark circles under his lover's eyes, such pretty silver eyes, and full of so much guilt and sadness. Was that why he had turned away, because he felt bad? Or because he was embarrassed?

Aela insisted in a lowered voice, "This  _won't_  last. The cravings are bad right now, I get that, but it's your mind playing tricks on you, telling you need a drink when you really don't. Your body is clean now, brother. You haven't had a drink in over four days. This is your fifth night completely sober. In two days it will be a week." Some of the anxiousness left Edric's expression as he stared at her. She put her hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "You can hold on for two more days, right?"

"Y-yeah, I guess," he said uncertainly.

"We'll get you through the next two days, and after that you'll feel better, I'm sure of it. You have to give yourself time to figure out how to cope without turning to drink every time. You have to reorder your way of thinking."

"Right," he whispered, laying his forehead on his knees. "Right. Yeah."

"How does the wolf feel right now?"

"I don't know. Calm, I guess?" he mumbled. "I don't really feel it that much. It doesn't feel…separate, anyway. I just feel strange. I feel…I don't feel like me, I don't…I don't know how I feel, it's like…like I don't know who I am."

"You've had drink in your system on a constant basis for how long? Almost half your life? Maybe you don't know how to feel without it yet, but you'll get used to it. You're still you." She squeezed his shoulder again, and when he wouldn't look up she gently pushed on his forehead. He clucked his tongue and huffed in irritation but complied, his lips pursed. "Give yourself time. You go getting impatient and angry with yourself and you'll sabotage any progress you've made."

"Why shouldn't I be angry with myself?" Edric growled.

"Hey," Farkas said in warning, needing to say something before his mate got caught up in flogging himself. Edric wouldn't look at him, and he said, "You've got no reason to be mad at yourself. You didn't do any—" The smaller man's hand flashed out and grabbed the Companion's right arm, shoving the sleeve up to inspect it, then the left, and when he saw the healed bite mark he let out a bitter laugh and let go.

"Right. No reason." He hugged his legs and added, "I've only spent the last four days sucking the life out of you and nearly gutted you today."

Farkas growled, "Vilkas told you." No one else would have been that cruel.

"It's the truth, isn't it?"

"You did  _not_  nearly gut me. You started to shift and I left the cage and locked it. You didn't get anywhere near me. And the arm isn't that bad. You can hardly even see the marks." At least you couldn't tell what the scars were.

Aela added with pride, "Two experienced males half again as big as you couldn't keep you down. The Lord of the Hunt himself had a hand in your making, brother. You're faster and stronger than any other wolf I've seen. If only you could see yourself as…" She trailed off when his eyes strayed to hers, and she snorted a self-deprecating laugh. "What is done under the moons is held against no one, and Farkas suffered no lasting harm. You should see Skjor's ribs though. You got the old man good." Edric sputtered a laugh of disbelief then sighed heavily and laid his forehead on his knees again. She leaned close and laid her hand on his arm, saying softly, "Next week, once the worst of all this is over, you and I will hunt together, brother. There's nothing as intense as that first time."

"Yeah. That sounds good."

"Get some rest. I'll be across the hall." He caught her wrist as she rose, and she sighed, "You'll be fine."

"I wasn't fine earlier!" he said in a panic. "What if I lose control again? What if I start hallucinating?"

"You can't shift more than once in twenty-four hours, and as for the other, I truly believe you're past the worst of it. So does Skjor. You have to give yourself a chance."

"Give myself a chance to hurt someone again, you mean!"

A faint rumble sounded in Edric's voice as it rose, and Aela shook her head. "That is not what I mean." She pulled away but Edric held her fast, and she murmured, "Let go. Now." He quickly let go, then he took in a shuddering breath as his eyes grew shiny. "Oh good grief," Aela sighed. She flung her hand out at Farkas. "Your man is right there. Nothing is going to go wrong. I'll be right across the hall. I'll leave my door open." He nodded and tucked his face into his knees again, and Aela sighed heavily and looked at Farkas, and when the warrior nodded she gave Edric's shoulder an awkward pat then let herself out.

Farkas knelt there for nearly a minute, waiting, his knees starting to hurt even with a rug there. It was sad seeing his beloved so upset and afraid. Edric was coherent at least, but unhappy.

"You should leave. Me," Edric mumbled.

"Never," Farkas growled. "Forget it." It pissed him off that Edric would even suggest it.

"I told you I was fucked up. I warned you, Farkas. I  _told_  you."

"Yeah, so? I still don't believe it. You've got stuff you've got to deal with, I know that. You've been covering it up all these years with drinking. But you aren't fucked up, and whatever you are we can fix it." The other man shivered and shook his head slightly. Frustrated, Farkas asked, "Don't you trust me?"

"Of course I do."

"Then stop shutting me out." The statement was delivered in a harsher tone than he intended, but he was tired. He had known that this was going to be hard, and he'd even told Skjor that Edric was going to be a handful during withdrawal. Anyone would be who had been drinking this hard for this long, and then to add being Dragonborn on top of it and dealing with the beastblood, in addition to just being feisty in general, it was a guaranteed mess. Farkas didn't mind dealing with this, he honestly didn't, but Edric was making things harder.

He heard a choked sob as Edric's shoulders shook, and he groaned and moved close to put his arms around his mate, who looked so small and miserable all bunched up like that. He feared Edric would shake him off but instead the younger man leaned into him. "It's okay, sweetheart," Farkas whispered.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Farkas repeated. "It's just hard right now. Everything'll be okay, love. I know it will."

'You s-shouldn't have to put up with any of this."

"I want to. I want to take care of you. So I will. I have." Gods knew hardly anyone else ever had over the years. "Just…don't push me away, okay? It scares me when you won't look at me and pretend I'm not there. I want you to talk to me when something's bugging you. It won't get better if you don't talk about it."

"It. There's no 'it'. I told Vilkas that." He sniffed and pulled away from Farkas enough to wipe his eyes. "I was never abused or molested or anything. There isn't any 'it' you can put your finger on."

It was a little unsettling that Edric and Vilkas had talked. Edric and Vilkas having a talk was the stuff of nightmares, but now wasn't the time to ask what they'd talked about. "Maybe not any one thing, but a bunch of little things all wrapped up together. You told me your first memory was crying alone in a graveyard when you were hardly more than a baby. You had to join the Legion when you were still a kid to take care of your mom, and I'm sorry I know she couldn't help it but she never took care of you right. It wasn't her fault and she did the best she could but it wasn't enough and I know it wasn't." Edric's entire body was suddenly thrumming with tension, as if everything he was suddenly drew up into a tight, anxious ball. Farkas left the matter alone, for now, and rubbed his lover's back, saying, "Let's go to sleep, okay? You look tired."

"I want the potion. To make sure I sleep." His voice was a harsh whisper, sounding almost angry.

"Sure, honey." Farkas got up to fetch the half-full bottle, and when he turned around he saw his lover pacing again, rubbing his upper arms. "Is it bad again?" he asked quietly.

"The cravings? Yeah. Bad." He folded his arms and looked like he was trying to go still, but he whimpered and began walking back and forth again. "It's driving me crazy, Farkas. I feel like I'll die if I don't get a drink, I mean, I know I won't, but I can't stand it."

"Drinking'll kill you. The cravings won't."

"Would it have? Killed me?"

Farkas' eyes narrowed as he growled furiously, "Don't go there. We're not fucking going there." Edric stopped pacing and stared at him in bewilderment, his mouth hanging open and eyes wide. Farkas hated himself for it, but he was tired and at the end of his rope. How much worse would it have been if Edric hadn't spent the first three days mostly asleep? He hated being angry at his mate, but this was the angriest he had ever been with him. He could just see the other man rationalizing it, telling himself his drinking wasn't so bad and wasn't really doing any damage, or that maybe one little drink wouldn't hurt. One drink would lead to another, and they'd be right back where they started, and next time Edric tried to dry out it really might kill him.

His anger seemed to shock Edric out of his cravings, and the big man sighed as the Dragonborn lowered his eyes and began picking at his tunic, looking nervous and self-conscious. He went to him, feeling bad, but he wasn't going to apologize. He had every right to be mad when Edric talked like that. He handed him the half-empty bottle and quietly said, "Drink that then go lay down and I'll rub your back."

Edric took the bottle and mumbled, "Can we just…um, lie there? Would that be okay?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess." His lover winced at the hurt tone to the Companion's voice, then Edric turned away and went around Farkas to the bed. He shoved down the offense and offered, "The room looks good."

"Yeah, it's…great. That was nice of everyone." He pulled the cork and threw back the potion then crawled into bed. When Farkas didn't move he patted the other side of the bed, and the warrior sighed and put out most of the candles then sat down on the other side to remove his boots. Once he was under the covers Edric rolled onto his side then tentatively reached out to touch Farkas' arm. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Farkas mumbled, "It's okay. It's just hard. I get that."

"I just…I don't know how to think or feel right now. Everything is too much, and…and the beastblood is making it worse. Too loud, too bright. My skin feels… I just don't think I can take being touched too much, okay?"

"Okay," he relented, feeling bad. That all made sense. Having booze constantly in his system probably had numbed everything a little, and yes, the beastblood would make it worse in some ways. This had been the worst possible combination of events, and trying to deal with all this at once was probably close to impossible for Edric. Maybe Farkas really was expecting too much of his lover right now.

It was quiet for a moment, as Farkas stared at the ceiling, Edric's hand on his arm, the other man's grip loosening as the potion took hold. He finally sighed heavily and turned onto his side, and when he slid his hand under Edric's the Dragonborn lightly grasped it, sending relief through him. He had to keep reminding himself that things would get better. It couldn't possibly stay this hard forever. At least Edric was in his right mind now, and that was a big improvement.

"I told Vilkas why I love you. I meant every word."

The sleepy statement made Farkas' chest tighten, and he leaned close and placed a light kiss on his mate's forehead. "I'm glad, sweetheart," he whispered. "I love you too. I really do." It was such a relief to hear that Edric still loved him. He could handle most anything as long as he knew that, and for Edric to go so far as to tell Vilkas why, well, it was great, it really was, but it still worried him a bit to think of what had gone on in the Underforge while he was away.

"Ah,  _miingi_."

Edric quickly dropped off after that, and Farkas lay there for a minute then lightly rubbed his thumb over his man's finger. It was nice being in a real bed together like this. Not squeezed into Farkas' single bed and making do. Not huddled on a bedroll in a cage inside a dark, dank cave. That hadn't helped anyone's state of mind, that was for sure. What if that cage hadn't been there though? Edric might have killed someone. Maybe even Farkas. Maybe even would've eaten him. The thought was horrifying. He'd heard of werewolves killing themselves out of guilt after doing something like that.

He shoved the thought aside and listened to Edric's deep, steady breathing for a while then sat up on his elbow to lean over and kiss the scarred cheek. He moved his nose down to Edric's neck and sniffed, pleased that his mate smelled clean now, the four days' worth of sweat and sickness gone, along with any hint of liquor. It made it easier to smell the wolf and dragon in him, twined together, musky/spicy and so wonderful, with the smell of human maleness underneath. By Dibella he smelled good. It made the desire that had been completely absent lately come back in waves, but he'd be damned before he pressed his partner for that. He'd let Edric be the one to bring that up. If his lover couldn't tolerate even being rubbed or cuddled right now it was a given Edric wasn't going to be up for more than that for a while.

Farkas drifted to sleep with the smell of his mate in his nose, finally feeling some hope that everything would turn out all right. It was exactly as Aela had said: Edric had gone without drink for four days now, and before long it would be a week. All they had to do was get through one week, then another. It was hard to say when it would be safe to leave Edric alone, but maybe he just wouldn't be able to be for a while. It would be good for him to have one of the three whelps around when one of the Circle couldn't be, good to go on some jobs with them. At least now that all three of them knew he was the Dragonborn he wouldn't have to hold back. He couldn't afford to if magical healing didn't work.

Movement in the bed woke him later, how much later he wasn't sure, but he heard Skjor talking to Tilma out in the main living hall, and the clank of Vilkas' armor, so it was morning. That Vilkas was wearing armor was a worry, since he wasn't supposed to be going out on jobs alone, but Skjor was out there to deal with it. The night candle had burned out but the ones outside the door were letting light in from underneath. He could see the outline of Edric's profile then a raised hand rubbing his face, then the other man rolled back onto his side.

"Farkas."

"Yeah," he whispered. He heard a soft sigh then felt a hand on his cheek and the stroke of a thumb along his cheekbone. "How you feeling?" Farkas felt wonderful. Perfect right now. Waking up to his man like this was how it should be, and Edric was being affectionate on his own. It was perfect after days of it being so damn hard.

"Good. Hungry." Edric laughed. "Really hungry."

"That's great, Edie." It was hard to keep the catch out of his voice. Hungry was good. He wasn't sure that he had ever heard Edric say that he was, or had ever even seen him eat with any amount of enthusiasm. It hurt to realize that, but it made him happy that it had changed. He was about to ask if they could cuddle now, but Edric suddenly moved close to him, nuzzling his face into the hollow of Farkas' throat. He heard and felt the deep intake of breath and the touch of toes against his.

"Shit, you smell good…" Another deep breath, then Edric laughed again, sounding shaky. "It's so weird, but…I can almost taste it. How you smell."

Farkas grit his teeth and kept his hands to himself with an extreme amount of effort, and when he was pushed onto his back he let out a huffing growl of frustration. "Come on," he groaned. He was trying to be good, he really was, but Edric was making it impossible, and now the hands were starting to wander along with the sniffing and he felt like he was going to lose his mind when one slid up his tunic. It had been so damn long since they had done anything, between Kodlak's death and Edric's hurt leg and everything else. Funny how he had gone sometimes months without sex and now he could hardly handle a week or two without it.

"Take it off, Farkas. All of it."

"Only if you do too."

Edric laughed, "Oh yeah. It's coming off."

"Thank the gods," he breathed, making his lover laugh again. It sounded so good, hearing him laugh, a sound of pure happiness, just a touch wicked. Maybe it wouldn't last, but in the here and now it was a good sign, along with being hungry. He threw off his clothes, hearing Edric do the same, then he felt warm skin pressed against him and the tickle of body hair along his flank as his lover wrapped himself around Farkas.

"Smell so good."

A nip on the neck and more roaming hands, and the warrior had to grip the mattress on either side to keep his own to himself, afraid to put the other man off from…whatever Edric was doing. Farkas could feel that Edric wasn't particularly aroused by any of this, something he wasn't sure how to manage. He honestly wasn't sure what Edric's objective was. It was the beastblood making him act like this, that much was obvious, but all he seemed interested in was smelling and tasting and touching, and that was fine but it was driving Farkas mad.

"What…what is that smell?" Edric murmured huskily as he nosed down Farkas' abdomen. His chin bumped against hardness and he chuckled, "Oh, well."

"Yeah, it's that, so can I just take care of it?" Farkas asked in frustration.

Edric laughed again, a rather mean-sounding laugh to be honest. "Ah  _miingi_ , I'm sorry," he murmured, not sounding sorry at all.

Farkas gasped an obscenity as in one quick motion his lover lifted him up then took him into his mouth. He was well aware of the people out in the hall, and hoped they couldn't hear anything, though that worry wasn't as great now that Edric had a room of his own. The door was locked and Aela was probably already up and gone, and she wouldn't care anyway, and it was dark and they were in a double bed and his man had his own room, one that would eventually be theirs. Edric was alive and healthy, and his mate's mouth felt good, and at the moment everything was just as it should be.

He still kept his hands to himself, afraid to ruin this, and before long the pleasure took up all his attention. A hand was added as the pace picked up and that was all it took after days of deprivation, and when his lover drew away he forgot his vow and grabbed him to flip Edric onto his back, making the smaller man laugh breathlessly. He tasted himself on his mate's tongue, bitter and familiar and very reassuring, as was the way he accepted Farkas' touch without complaint or drawing away.

He moved down and began licking and sucking at his lover, relieved to see and feel him growing fully interested, enjoying the smell of him that was at once so familiar and so different, the spicy scent of dragon and the musk of man with the tang of wolf underneath. Fingers wound themselves into his hair with a hitched breath, and he growled happily.

Edric stiffened beneath him then began pushing him away, and he lifted his head in confusion when he heard a gasped, "Stop. Stop, please…"

Farkas sat up as his mate rolled onto his side, panting and whimpering. "What's wrong?" he asked, deeply worried. Edric didn't answer, breathing quickly and shallowly. Farkas touched his back and felt it slick with sweat, more than what they had done should have caused. "Do you feel sick?" There was a whine that sounded sort of like a yes, or had that tone anyhow. And of course Farkas didn't know where anything was in the room, and couldn't find it in the dark, and couldn't do magic to make a light. "Hold on, honey," he murmured, carefully rolling off the bed so as not to jostle it and pulling his clothes on. He prayed to Mara or whoever that this was just a brief episode and not a setback. He couldn't deal with his mate growing delusional again. The others would help, and they had helped, even Vilkas had in his own way, but he was just too damn tired of it all to bear going through another round of it.

He opened the door and slipped outside enough to grab a lantern then hurried back in and shut and locked the door. It wouldn't stop Edric if he went wild, even in human form, but it would slow him down.

Farkas lit a few of the candles off the lantern's flame, and when he saw his mate curled up like a bug and clutching his middle with his face shoved into the pillow he grumbled in sympathy. With light in the room he could finally see the bruises and scrapes covering most of Edric's body. "Fuck, Edie," he whispered. "This was a bad idea." It was too soon, that was all. Of course Edric felt like shit, and maybe sex had triggered it, and he was hurting all over on top of that. He pulled up the lightest blanket then petted sweetroll hair back, and when a hand came up he began to pull away but Edric held it tightly, cradling it to his chest. "Ah sweetheart, it'll be okay," Farkas murmured as he knelt by the bed. "Everything'll be okay, you'll see."

"So sorry."

"No more sorries."

"I just…I can't figure out what the fuck you're getting out of this," Edric rasped, sounding angry, his voice cracking into the pillow.

Farkas sighed and kissed Edric's shoulder, tasting salt, but at least there was no longer alcohol oozing out of his skin. "You saved my life, and now I'm saving yours. I love you and you love me. It doesn't need be any more complicated than that."

Edric didn't answer, other than to go still for a moment then whine softly as he turned his head to look up at the bigger man. He pulled Farkas' hand up to his mouth and held it there, staring up with silver eyes that the Companion still wasn't used to, but damn if they weren't the prettiest eyes he had ever seen. Farkas smiled at him and resumed petting his hair, worries fading. Edric frowned, a frown of confusion more than irritation, studying Farkas' face as if he had never seen him before, then the lines between his brows smoothed out and he rubbed his cheek against the warrior's hand. The gesture made Edric frown again, as if he couldn't understand why he had done it, but Farkas knew why, just as he had known why he had rubbed his own face on that bedroll the day they met, and it made Farkas' heart sing.

The Dragonborn laughed at the bigger man's expression, a little laugh but a laugh all the same. He kissed each knuckle, smiling impishly, and he rubbed his cheek again and asked, "Is this a wolf thing? Wanting to do this?"

"Yeah," he murmured. He stroked his thumb along a velvety cheek and added, "A really good thing."

Edric kissed the hand again then slowly sat up with Farkas' help, wincing at sore skin and muscles. He let go of the hand to take Farkas' face in his own, holding his gaze as he traced the lines of it. "It's so…" He looked perplexed again. "Everything is so intense," he whispered. "The sounds, the smells, the sensations… Will it always be this bad?"

"Well, yeah, but you learn to handle it. Block some of it out." He put his hands on Edric's narrow hips and went on, "But some of it might be withdrawal. Arcadia said it takes time for everything to sort itself out. You were kind of numb a lot of the time, probably. It's maybe a little of both. But either way it'll get better."

"I want to get away, for just a little while, the two of us," Edric mumbled. "Once I don't feel so out of whack."

"Sure honey. Whatever you want. Wherever you want."

His mate sighed heavily and muttered, "I guess it'll have to be Hjaalmarch, yeah?"

"Yeah, I guess so." They both owed the alchemist, who had been put in a tough spot, having to churn out sleeping potions more quickly than anticipated, with only part of the pay that she had been promised. She had complained loudly about it every chance she got, according to Ria, but at least she had been discreet about it and hadn't balked at helping, and last night she surprisingly hadn't given Farkas any attitude at all. It was good that Edric was thinking of what he owed her, on his own; the Dragonborn always paid his debts and then some, but it was surprising this early, when he had been irrational most of yesterday. He did seem to have turned a corner though. He really did. It was such a massive relief.

A loud gurgling growl rolled out of Edric's stomach, and he chuckled self-consciously and hugged his middle. "Wow. I'm fucking  _starving_."

Farkas barked out a laugh and kissed his mate, a feeling of pure joy going through him along with another wave of relief. It was hard to believe everything had been so awful just twelve hours ago, that Edric had shifted and tried to kill him after spending the day yelling and accusing and being generally awful and crazy. It wasn't as if Farkas didn't know that there would still be bad moments, especially over the next few weeks, but they couldn't be nearly as bad as what they had gone through this week. The last two weeks really. It didn't seem possible that this much misfortune could fall on one person in such a short period of time, but maybe that just meant that it would be better now. It had to be. He didn't see how it could be any worse than it had been.

"It can wait though," Edric murmured. He tugged on Farkas' arm. "Lay with me a little bit?"

"Yeah," Farkas whispered, his voice catching. Edric pulled up his shirt and Farkas took it off then got on the bed, his mate moving into the circle of his arms to nuzzle and sniff again, more gently this time. Now that he was satisfied it was pure sweet pleasure instead of a torment, skin to skin, petting his lover while Edric explored him with wolfish senses. He didn't remember him or Vilkas acting this way at first, or Aela when she joined, and he hoped it was because they were lovers and this was a mating thing. He prayed to Hircine that it was. If only that bond was in place. It wasn't something he wanted to rush, but he wanted it desperately, not only for himself but Edric. Maybe the worst was over, but the cravings weren't going away anytime soon, and if he felt Farkas always there it might help him resist.

_"Zu'u lokaal hi."_

Farkas wracked his brain, the comment sounding familiar, then he remembered it from that night, the night that Edric had admitted who he was and who his father was. "I love you too, sweetheart," he replied. "More than anything."

"Thank you. For...everything. For being so patient."

"Ah honey, it's okay." It wasn't as if he expected thanks for it. That wasn't why he had done it.

"Still." Edric sighed and sat up on his elbow, and when his stomach growled again he ignored it as he stroked Farkas' dark hair back from his forehead. The younger man's brows drew together, not quite a frown, and Farkas stayed silent, letting him think whatever he was thinking. After a few moments Edric asked, "Will you come out with me and Aela? On my first hunt?"

"Of course I will." Aela might grouch about it, but if that was what his mate wanted then that was what he would get. He had always had trouble not bothering her under those circumstances, liking women just enough for it to be a problem, but with Edric there he might not. It would be interesting though to see how the other man reacted to her in wolf form.

"What if I lose control again? What if...ugh, gods, what if I...eat a  _person?_ " he finished in a whisper.

Farkas grimaced, unsure of how to answer. "It happens, Edie," he admitted with distaste. "It happens to everybody sooner or later. All you can do is hope it's a bunch of bandits and try to not think of them as people. It's the only way." It wasn't something he liked to think too hard about, not that he was ever guilty of thinking too hard. Coming back to awareness with a full belly and knowing it was because of that was never easy, but it didn't happen often, and when it had happened to Farkas it had always been bandits. His lover looked ill at the thought of it, and he stated, "What happens when you're changed has to stay there, as much as it can. You'll get more control each time. I went totally crazy the first five or six times. You can't blame yourself for what's gonna happen, or what happened in the Underforge. No one else does." He laid his hand against Edric's cheek. "Aela and I will go out with you and everything'll be fine. We'll go out on the plains and just run, the three of us. Maybe take down a deer, and then lay in the grass after." Like a pack, like it used to be.

Edric nodded, the pinched look leaving his expression, then he laid down again, pillowing his head on Farkas' chest, stroking his fingers through the hair on his belly before nuzzling again and breathing deeply. Farkas put his arm around his shoulders, smelling his hair, feeling content.

"Live here with me," the Dragonborn quietly suggested. "Move in your things."

"Okay." He made a happy sound and resisted the urge to give the smaller man a squeeze. He had thought to wait until they were bonded, mated, but he was too aware of how little time they had before Edric left. Five months, maybe. Not long enough. Edric laughed softly and leaned up to kiss him, his brown and white hair in pretty waves around his face. Vilkas would fuss, but he fussed regardless, and maybe it was a little sad that he was moving away from his brother, but it was just across the hall, and Vilkas would have his twin all to himself all too soon. Farkas wanted to enjoy what time he had, and that Edric was the one who was suggesting the move meant so much.

His mate's grip tightened as Edric suddenly buried his face in Farkas' chest, and the warrior felt sweat spring up in beads on the other man's back. He petted Edric's hair and murmured, "It's okay. I'm here." There was a slight nod, but Edric stayed, riding out the craving or the nausea or whatever it was. Edric stayed, and wanted Farkas to stay. That was all that mattered.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wonderful commissioned art by bulletsketchbook on Tumblr!
> 
> I cried many happy tears yesterday after the SCOTUS ruling. To see so much delight and relief online, especially the stories of elderly couples who have been together for decades, some of them half a century or more, was so incredibly moving. I just had to say something because I'm still so thrilled about it. It's only a step, but it's a big one.


	31. Chapter 31

**Vilkas**

_This is wrong_ , he thought. It was wrong to make a vulgar display of Torvar's judgment like this, in front of nearly the entire city.

Vignar stood before the former Companion, whose arms were held by Sinmir and a guard; Rorik of Rorikstead stood on the Jarl's left and Edric on the right, the Dragonborn wearing the modified ebony plate mail that Vilkas had seen him in back in the spring, while fighting that dragon on the plains together. Where in Oblivion did the man even keep such things, close enough to town that he could run out with Farkas to fetch it? He had his secret caches, Vilkas knew that, but it drove him mad thinking about all the similar little secrets Edric held. He would never know even half of them, the way things were going, and then he caught himself and wondered why he should even care. Back and forth, back and forth, never-ending. Exhausting.

The Companion had to admit Edric looked regal though, like a true hero, wearing armor whose value could feed a family for a year or more, and he carried the two-handed magical Akaviri katana on his back. The statue of Talos stood proud behind him, looking down on the proceedings as if he were judging Torvar as well. The folk of Whiterun were impressed, it was obvious, and more than a little confused as to why a recently-joined member of the Companions was attired in such a way, former adventurer or not. Vilkas supposed they would soon cease to be confused. It wasn't hard to guess why Vignar was making a public scene out of Torvar's punishment, whatever it ended up being. The punishment wasn't hard to guess either, seeing the steely expressions on both the Jarl's and his Thanes' faces.

"Torvar Skaldsson," Vignar went on, his voice ringing out, "you have been found guilty of the attempted murder—"

"I didn't know who he was!" the man cried.

Vilkas snorted to himself and shook his head, earning a jab in the ribs from Aela. The other Companions were gathered nearby on the stairs, Skjor in front of them, all watching impassively as their former shield-brother reaped what he had sown. Farkas only had eyes for his lover though, striking as Edric was. It seemed a bit of overkill, to be honest, but it seemed to be working, along with Torvar's comment. Some of the folk were whispering to each other, perhaps piecing together who Edric really was, though it couldn't be all that easy when everyone knew that the Dragonborn was horribly disfigured, not this only slightly-disfigured fair-faced man. Edric had been lovely before today, but there was a terrible beauty to him now, dressed in black and silver-eyed as he was. And those eyes…Edric could be cold, but at the moment his eyes were chips of ice, gazing at Torvar with not one ounce of pity.

"Doesn't matter," the Jarl retorted. "That doesn't matter one damn bit. Murder is murder, and the way you went about it was underhanded and cowardly. You sharpened your shield-brother Vilkas' training sword then sun-blinded Edric during an exercise, in an attempt to force Vilkas into killing him for you."

There were gasps at the proclamation, though Vilkas thought that anyone who could still claim to be shocked at this point was either being histrionic or had been living under a rock with the mudcrabs. A number of citizens glanced at Vilkas and he ignored it, though his skin itched under his armor at the unwanted attention. Considering the part he had played in all this, it was a small price to pay. He had gotten off lightly in all this, he knew that.

Vignar went on, "But since you brought it up, yes, it's a shame you didn't realize who he was. You nearly caused the death of a valuable citizen of this community. You nearly murdered a man that all of Skyrim owes a heavy debt to, a man who has already paid more of a price for our freedom and our lives than anyone had a right to expect. The world continues to exist because of this man, and only this man, and you nearly caused his death because of your petty jealousy."

 _There it is_ , Vilkas thought with a mental sigh, watching the ripples of reaction run through the crowd. He had to hand it to Vignar for giving everyone a bit of a show, and for calling Rorik in from the plains to add to the presentation. The Jarl had his Thanes on either side of him, it was obvious, and everyone knew who Whiterun's second Thane was. It was galling though, that Edric was going to be called on to fulfill his duties more often from here on out. The Companions set aside their titles when they joined the guild. Vignar himself had lost his place in the Companions when he became Jarl, and yet here he was publicly showing off a Companion as his Thane, and they were supposed to just ignore it? Because Edric was Dragonborn after all, and why shouldn't he be the exception?

"You say you wouldn't have done it if you had known who he was," the Jarl continued. "Even the lowest beggar on the streets of this city isn't fair game for you. I don't know how they do things up in The Pale, but here in Whiterun no one is above the law. You planned out Edric's murder in cold blood. There was no heat of the moment, no crime of passion involved. You did it just to remove someone who  _annoyed_  you. It was an action unworthy of a Nord, let alone a Companion." He motioned with his chin towards the stairs to Jorrvaskr, his bright eyes glittering and hard. "You have been cast out of the guild. The Companions have broken all ties and bonds with you." He paused. "As has your family."

Torvar went limp at that and began to moan, the implications obvious. Vilkas almost pitied him at that moment. Almost. It was cruel of Vignar to hit the man with that particular piece of information in public, but it was no less than the traitor deserved. It was surprising that Skald had given up his youngest son to execution, because that was exactly what was going to happen, but then there was really no other way it could have gone. In the big scheme of things the Dragonborn's life was worth more than Torvar's, and if the man was spared then public sentiment would go strongly against Skald once word got out that the shield-brother his son had plotted against was the Dragonborn. Ulfric's sentiment would as well, and Divines only knew what the High King thought of all this, because it was a given he had been notified right after it happened. No one had outright said, to Vilkas anyway, but he was certain that Ulfric knew that Edric was here.

Vignar stated, "Jarl Skald the Elder of The Pale has disowned you and left your fate to Whiterun and the Companions. The Companions have cast you out and handed you over to my authority. I in turn am giving your life to the man whose life you so cravenly tried to take."

The blond sagged to his knees but Sinmir and the guard hauled him back to his feet, the Captain barking at him to face his fate like a man. Aela clucked her tongue and muttered, "Coward. Remind me of what we were thinking when we allowed  _that_  to join?"

"He wasn't that when he joined," Vilkas replied, unable to keep a touch of sorrow out of his voice. It was hard not to feel regretful, remembering feasts in the hall and rowdy nights at the Bannered Mare, back when Torvar still had control of himself and had been enjoyable to be around. Vilkas had to give Edric credit for never allowing his drinking to affect those around him, much, beyond how it worried Farkas, and yet in the end Edric had been as helpless against his addiction as Torvar was. How was it that the Jarl's son who had everything going for him had let it come to this, while the bastard son of a teenage prostitute was standing there in ebony armor as a Thane? It was a rhetorical question, when you got down to it. Torvar had had everything handed to him from birth; Edric had scraped and fought for what he had, had expected nothing out of life but what he had earned or taken for himself.

Vilkas certainly didn't feel like he deserved an award for figuring that out, but it still hurt that it had come to this. Torvar's betrayal had hurt all the Companions, but Vilkas especially. Nearly three weeks later and he still had the occasional nightmare that he really had killed Edric, in ways ranging from bashing his head repeatedly into the rock wall to simply standing there while he slowly bled out onto the training grounds. The dreams were satisfying right up to the point where he realized Edric was dead, and he woke up in a horrified sweat every time.

The swell of the crowd's murmurs drew him out of his morbid thoughts, making him realize he'd missed something, and his keen hearing picked up astonished exclamations of  _Dragonborn!_  and _Dovahkiin!_  here and there. Well, there it was, out in the open, and now the Companions would never get any peace.  _Oooh, did you know the entire time who he was? Have you seen him use the thu'um? Why does he have a face now? What does he like to eat for breakfast? Is it true your brother is his lover? Is he really a mage like people say he is?_

The Dragonborn moved forward a step towards Torvar, the former Companion quaking like a leaf before him. Edric's face was expressionless, but Vilkas saw his twin fidget, Farkas gazing at his partner with concern, able to see what most couldn't, perhaps. This was the first time Edric had been out in the city since taking the beastblood and getting off alcohol. He hadn't even had his first hunt yet, and here he was standing in front of hundreds of people, expected to participate in a spectacle. Vilkas realized with a little jolt of surprise that this was the first time Edric had appeared publicly without his face covered, as the Dragonborn. It had to be stressful, on the heels of taking the blood and going through withdrawal, something he was still wrestling with. Well, that was Edric's own damn fault, on both counts.

"I considered what to do with you," Edric stated. The people in the plaza had gone completely silent, but even if they hadn't the Dragonborn's voice would have carried, the roll of thunder coloring every word. "I would like to say I considered being merciful, but that would be untrue. If you had targeted me for who I was, maybe I could have been, but you didn't. You targeted me because you thought me some uppity whelp, and if you couldn't put me in my place then you wanted me dead. That tells me that you would do it to anyone."

Torvar cried, "I wouldn't Dragonborn, I swear! I'll do whatever I—"

" _GOL HAH!"_

The gathered people cried out and took a collective step back, and Vilkas nearly did so as well, cold fear seeping into his bones at the memory of having his self-determination ripped away from him in the exact same way. People were clinging to each other, terrified, and he had to wonder if that was deliberate on Edric's part. In the past the masks and the Daedric armor had usually been enough to keep people at a distance, keep them from infringing on his personal space except when driven by dire need. Putting this kind of terror into everyone would do the same quite nicely. The other Companions were afraid as well, Vilkas could smell it, could hear it in their labored breathing, but they were all made of stern enough stuff not to let it show.

Edric motioned for Sinmir and the guard to let go, and they did, quickly stepping away. Torvar stared at Edric calmly, as placid as a milk cow. "Tell me, Torvar," he continued. "You would have done this to anyone, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah, sure," Torvar said with a nod.

"Why did you want me dead?"

"You're a nobody," the blond said in a distant tone. "A fatherless soldier no one ever heard of. Some Stormcloak grunt that came out of nowhere. I didn't know. Wouldn't have done it if I knew. Had to teach you a lesson. Teach the Companions a lesson about taking in bastards and letting 'em rise too quick."

Edric nodded slowly while Vilkas watched the reaction amongst the townfolk, disgust and anger taking over the fear among some. He could sense Aela's anger at the forced confession, the redhead literally fuming with it. It was one thing to know why Torvar had done it, but to hear it from the man's mouth was another thing entirely. The shout's effect wouldn't last much longer, and when Edric said nothing more it seemed he was waiting for it to wear off. When it did the blond's eyes widened in terror as a strangled mewling sound came from his mouth, and a fleeting expression of satisfaction crossed the Dragonborn's face. As if the man's fear  _pleased_  him.

"I told you in the jail what I wanted to do to you," Edric stated, "what I couldn't do and hold to the Way of the Voice. I had to remind myself that I'm not a Greybeard, or a Tongue. I followed the Way as long as I put aside who I was. I'm done with that.  _RII VAAZ!_ "

Vilkas sucked in a breath of horror as a ball of purple energy flew out of Edric's mouth towards Torvar, briefly growing in size then slamming into him. The blond shrieked and convulsed, knees buckling as the thu'um wrapped around him, crawling over his skin, lighting up his body, then he flopped like a doll to the ground, his death coming with startling speed. It wasn't over though, thunder cracking as streams of lavender light flowed towards Edric. Vilkas was too horrified to do more than stare, like everyone else in the plaza, even Vignar looking as if he was two seconds away from bolting. Many of the folk present did just that. The other Companions were tense, not any more comfortable than the others, though Skjor seemed calm enough for what he was witnessing; maybe Edric had told him beforehand how he planned to take Torvar's life. Farkas looked distressed but more for his lover's sake than anything else.

The Dragonborn turned to Vignar and bowed slightly. "By your leave, my Jarl?" he asked.

"Aye," Vignar whispered, staring wide-eyed at Torvar's corpse. He cleared his throat then said more firmly, "Aye,  _Dovahkiin_ , but I'll be expecting you up at Dragonsreach in one hour. I have matters to discuss with my Thanes."

Edric bowed more deeply then headed for Jorrvaskr. As he climbed the steps the Companions parted to let him through, and Farkas frowned for a moment before Edric grabbed his hand as he passed. Skjor followed them, motioning with his head towards Aela and Vilkas to let them know to follow as well. Vilkas didn't appreciate being directed in such a manner, but his curiosity got the better of him, and it seemed the Circle was being called together. Well, that was fine. It wasn't as if Vilkas didn't have things to say, and he would say them, no matter how futile it was.

Once they entered the Underforge, Edric moved away from Farkas and shook himself all over with a growl, and as the door slid shut Vilkas asked in a harsh voice, "What the fuck did you do to Torvar?"

"Don't," Skjor demanded, pointing at him. "Just leave it alone."

"What do you think he did?" Aela retorted to Vilkas, then she went to watch Edric, who was pacing a tight circle around the font, still stained with her blood. The cage had been emptied and the entire Underforge cleaned other than the stone basin, but the memory lingered. She simply observed him for the moment, her silver eyes intense, ready to step in if needed.

Vilkas pressed, "Why did you not just run him through and be done with it?"

"Shor's balls, can you not let it be?" Skjor asked in aggravation. "It's over. Vignar gave him the bastard's life and he took it as he saw fit, end of story."

Scowling Farkas asked his twin, "What did you want, anyway? Blood? Wasn't gory enough to satisfy you?"

Vilkas didn't answer him, his lips pursed, then he turned to Skjor. "You called us here," he stated as he folded his arms. "Why?"

The Harbinger folded his arms as well and answered, "The lad's going on his first hunt tonight. If all goes well, and I see no reason why it wouldn't—"

"Yes, I'm certain it will go as smoothly as his joining," Vilkas drawled. "Why wouldn't it?"

Skjor stared flatly at him then went on, "As I was saying, if it goes well then I say we go after the Silver Hand as soon as possible. Krev the Skinner is at Gallows Rock and I want a piece of that bitch. Doesn't matter which piece. I want to set out in two days."

Vilkas shook his head, his gaze moving to Edric. "He isn't ready to be left here alone. Look at him."

The Dragonborn ran his hands through his hair and growled, "It's the cravings, nothing more. I have a handle on the blood and you know it."

"I know no such thing."

"I took it a week and a half ago. I last changed five days ago. I know you've all been watching me for any signs of instability. And that's fine, but I can handle it."

"Right. So why did you not just cut off Torvar's head then?" He felt a surge of satisfaction when Edric sneered at him but didn't deny it: it was likely that one of the reasons he hadn't used a blade was to avoid the chance of the smell and sight of blood rousing the beast in front of the entire town. The Dragonborn stopped pacing and rubbed at his face then dug in one of the pouches at his waist and took something out then tossed it to Vilkas, and the Companion snatched it out of the air. It was a deep purplish-black crystal, a thing that was rare but familiar, eschewed by the Companions but always picked up as something valuable and resold: a soul gem. It was slightly warm to the touch and had a faint shimmer to it, telling him it was filled with a soul, then he nearly dropped it in shock, his mouth falling open. He glared in revulsion at Edric and hissed, "You didn't."

The Dragonborn grinned back, toothy and wicked, his eyes wide with glee as he nodded enthusiastically. "Oh yes I did." He called a spell to his hand and yanked the soul gem back then began flipping it in the air and catching it as if it were nothing more than a copper coin, holding Vilkas' gaze and  _gloating_.

"I don't get it," Farkas grumbled.

"It is Torvar," Vilkas spat.

"Huh?"

Vilkas said in a near yell, "Your little darling stole Torvar's soul, damn it! That soul gem! It is Torvar!" Aela snorted while Skjor seemed uncertain how to react, gnawing at his bottom lip. Vilkas threw his hands in the air and shouted, "Why does no one have a problem with this! It is borderline necromancy!"

"No, that would have been me using the last word of the shout and making his corpse dance a jig," Edric said with an obscene amount of amusement. "And he would have turned to ash. Thought it might scare the kids though."

"You are  _evil_ ," Vilkas seethed.

Edric corrected, "I have a finely-honed sense of the dramatic." He held up the gem between two fingers to admire it. "I considered using this little beauty to enchant a shovel at the stables, so Torvar can spend eternity cleaning up horse shit. At least he'd finally be useful, in this one little way."

Aela chuckled and Skjor rubbed his forehead and muttered to himself, his expression strained, while Farkas stared at the font, frowning. "Get rid of it," Vilkas ordered, and Edric clucked his tongue and tutted, shaking his head. "It is  _wrong_ ," the Companion insisted. "It is not how we do things, and while I am on the subject of things we do not do, you are a Thane of Whiterun and now everyone knows it."

"Here we go," Skjor sighed. "He's Dragonborn, Vilkas. He's hardly a regular member. Do you honestly think we're going to throw him out at this point?"

"I am always open to that option," he stated sourly. "He has brought nothing but trouble since he came here."

"Don't even go there," Farkas growled. "Gods, I should have known you couldn't leave things alone for long."

As he shoved the soul gem back into his pouch Edric asked, "You really want to be down another member right now, Vilkas? Seven. You'd be down to  _seven_  members. Have there ever been that few?" He braced his hands on the font as he held Vilkas' eyes and continued, "I've brought no trouble here and you know it. Kodlak was already dying when I came. You were already denying the beastblood. The Silver Hand were already sniffing around. Torvar was already a drunken asshole." Vilkas rolled his eyes and looked away. "Getting me clean was hard on everyone, I know that," Edric said in a lowered voice, "and I appreciate everything everyone did. I mean it. But I won't take responsibility for things I didn't cause. With me here you have one more person to help deal with things, and I like to think I'm somewhat competent to do so."

"Yes, because you're Dragonborn, and so on and so on," Vilkas mumbled. "Spare me." He knew the Companions would be down to a nearly non-functional level if Edric left. He knew the three junior members wouldn't be able to keep things running while the Circle was away fighting the Silver Hand, though Athis would take things in hand and do his best. Edric would organize jobs and manage the logistics of it all as well as any of the Circle, if not better, and barring that he would just go out and do all the damn jobs himself with no help at all and no problems.

"It isn't only because of that, or even mainly, but it doesn't hurt," Skjor interjected. He made a cutting motion. "We aren't throwing out Edric, and it's childish to even suggest it's a possibility." Vilkas grumbled, and Skjor turned more fully to face him and demanded, "Stop wasting your energy fighting him being here, damn it. We're about to start a war and don't need the distraction."

"We wouldn't be at war with the Silver Hand if you two hadn't provoked them!"

Aela scoffed, "Surely you aren't that naïve, brother. They were already here. They've always been here, in one form or another. Best we clean them out before the Dawnguard catches wind of what's going on. I'd rather deal with the Hand than Isran's folk."

"Aye," Vilkas muttered. He couldn't deny the logic in that. The Silver Hand were thugs and sadists, no matter that a few very well could be former Vigilants of Stendarr gone mad. Krev the Skinner most likely was. The Dawnguard however was an organized, professional operation that could easily wipe out Skyrim's small population of werefolk with little effort. Aela knew where a few other packs were, out in the wilds, and maintained irregular contact with them; if the Silver Hand got hold of her they would get the information from her, one way or another. The thought of his pack sister, or even worse his twin, in the hands of either faction made his blood run cold, but the Dawnguard at least wouldn't torture them before putting them down.

The Harbinger told him, "Be ready to head out tomorrow night. We're doing this the way we agreed, all four of us, together." Vilkas nodded, and Skjor turned his single eye on Edric. "Ever been to Gallows Rock? Know anything about the layout?"

"Not much," the Dragonborn answered. "The only time I had reason to get anywhere near it, it was empty. I was coming down from the Raldbthar lift, after a week in Blackreach. I spent the night in the upper entry room for shelter then moved on." He straightened up from the font, a slight frown on his face as he stared at it, his eyes distant as if viewing the place in his mind's eye. "It's a typical rundown Imperial military fort, with the bulk of the place underground. The outer fortifications are mostly broken down, but provide a lot of potential hiding places for defenders. There's a single tower at the back, also broken. I don't think it contains an entrance to the fort proper, but could hold defenders out of sight. As far as I could tell, there's only one way in and out: the front door."

"Noted."

Edric gestured with his hands, saying, "Approaching from the front wall, the left side is completely open. Little to nothing left of the old walls on that side. The right hand side is a natural stone outcropping. Could provide you cover going in, but could hide them as well. I would approach from the north and take advantage of the high ground. Take the road past Mixwater Mill, go around Mara's Eye Pond and come in from the back. Avoid the pond though. Lots of spriggans there."

Skjor huffed a short laugh. "I'll take your 'not much' gladly, lad. It's good information."

Vilkas listened but kept his questions to himself, realizing he was out of his element, as were the other two. Skjor and Edric were both former soldiers, Edric very recently, in fact Edric had been a soldier as long if not longer than the older man, and he had been a general in Ulfric's army at that. He had taken a dozen forts or more, both as part of a military unit and alone, not to mention several cities, and if he had advice as to how the Circle should go about clearing Gallows Rock efficiently then Vilkas had no problem listening. The Companions often went into old forts and caves to remove bandits or retrieve hostages or stolen valuables, but this was different. The Silver Hand infesting Gallows Rock were part of a larger group, more organized, and they wanted the Circle dead.

The resentment that had reared up earlier subsided and he felt his curiosity unwillingly piqued. Blackreach? What and where was Blackreach, and why hadn't Vilkas ever heard of it? It had to be large if Edric had spent a week in it. Raldbthar was a Dwemer ruin, up in the mountains, often inhabited by lowlives but so isolated it wasn't something you simply happened upon. There were also lifts up there, gated-off and locked, leading down to who-knew-where, tantalizing and terrifying at the same time. Was Blackreach down underneath that mountain range then? How could something like that exist down there and no one knew about it?

The sound of his brother's voice roused him from his preoccupation, and he looked up to see Edric studying him with cold calculation, then the young man turned away to look up at Farkas. Vilkas tried to keep his expression neutral as he watched the big idiot move close to his lover and rub a bent finger under his chin. Edric gazed up at him with soft eyes then took his lover's hand and rubbed his cheek against it, and Vilkas suddenly felt hot all over, angry and offended while also feeling as if he had witnessed something he had no business intruding on. The two only had eyes for each other, and the look on Edric's face was one that hadn't been there before the last five days of living together. Vilkas didn't think they were bonded yet-he was sure he could tell if they were-but something had changed recently, something he had managed to avoid seeing as he avoided being anywhere near Edric.

He grumbled and looked away, which unfortunately put his gaze squarely on the cage, which also unfortunately reminded him of the passed-out, naked little dragon he had held in his arms, that last day that Edric had spent locked up in here. The younger man did seem to have a good handle on the beastblood so far, from what Vilkas could tell, but how much had that really been tested? The idea of him being left here in charge so soon without another member of the Circle to keep his beast in line was worrisome.

Suddenly the Dragonborn was leaving, probably to go to his  _very_  important meeting with the Jarl, seeing as how he was a Thane and all. Annoyed, Vilkas narrowed his eyes at Edric as he neared, his silver eyes sparkling with something that said he was up to no good, but then that had always been the case.

"You know Vilkas," Edric mentioned as he passed, "in Blackreach the mushrooms are a hundred feet tall and glow, and the nirnroots are red. There's an entire Dwemer city down there. It's _amazing_."

And then he was gone, and Vilkas was left simmering, the other three looking at him with varying expressions…irritation, concern, amusement.

Aela drawled, "You do it to yourself, you realize. It's too easy for him."

"It is sadistic of him to take such pleasure from it," Vilkas growled.

Farkas sighed, "From what? What now?"

"You are in the process of forming a mating bond with a horrible individual, that is what."

The big warrior growled, "He isn't horrible. He isn't horrible at all. He's sweet and funny and…and he's beautiful and strong and smart. There's nothing horrible about him, and if you mean the thing about the Torvar gem then yeah, that's, uh…kind of disturbing, but that doesn't make him horrible."

"He's  _funny_ , is he? He trapped a person's soul and thought it was funny! Does that amuse you, because it doesn't amuse me!"

Aela mused, "It's morbid, sure, but you have to admit it's slightly amusing. Only because it's Torvar, but still."

Vilkas looked at the Harbinger, who stared back very unhelpfully, not about to condone Edric's behavior but not condemning it either. He turned back to his twin and explained, "Edric baited me. He dangled that tiny bit of information about Blackreach in front of me then left, knowing it would aggravate me."

"Uh huh," Farkas grunted. "If you want to know what he's done and seen you could just ask, but you won't, and he knows it. He talks about all kinds of stuff, if people just ask. He told me about Blackreach, 'cause I asked. He's told me a lot of things. He talks to me like I'm smart. He treats me with respect. So if he's horrible what does that make you?" He shook his head at his brother then moved to leave, not waiting for an answer, saying to Skjor, "I'll see you tonight." The older man grunted in the affirmative, and as Farkas passed his twin he told him in annoyance, "And yeah, the water down there glows too."

He kept his lips clamped shut as Farkas left, anger gone once again and replaced with guilt. No, Edric wasn't a horrible person. He wasn't evil. He did questionable things, but he held to his honor, for the most part. Of course Farkas would defend him in such a way. Why wouldn't he? After his twin was gone he sullenly asked Skjor, "You are all going on his first hunt, then?"

The Harbinger gave a curt nod and answered, "He asked if I would go, and I said I would be honored. He said the entire pack is welcome, and I assume that still includes you, but he asked me specifically to come along. He wants all of us out there together on the hunt, the way it's supposed to be."

Vilkas frowned and glanced at Aela, and she raised an eyebrow. "This is a trial run," she stated dryly. "I do usually hunt alone, it's true, but I want to see how he does in a group, and he trusts Skjor and holds him in high esteem. He wants him there. I have no problem with it. And Farkas going is a given."

"And he and Farkas are bonding," Vilkas muttered. The thought made him ill, and he couldn't quite say why. It wasn't his distaste for Edric, or not only that anyway. It wasn't just the bestial nature of the process either.

"You know they are," she chided, her tone not unkind. "If you had left your room at all lately you'd know that. Can't say it's a bad thing that you haven't. You and the whelp are flint and steel. You have no business being around each other."

"He and Farkas have no business being around each other!"

"That is for them to decide, not you. They're good for each other. He keeps Edric steady, and Edric encourages him. It's...sweet, to watch it happening. I never have with my own eyes." She shrugged. "It's not for me, but there's something pleasant about watching it grow. Pair-bonding is Hircine's gift to us. Whatever is happening between them is natural, and not to be interfered with. Seems to be happening rather more quickly than I thought it would, but Edric being what he is throws things off in a lot of ways. At least this is a good way." She left it at that, exiting the Underforge.

"But it is not our way," Vilkas mumbled once she was gone.

"Ways have to change at times," Skjor said with sympathy, "or at least bend temporarily. The two of them getting together hasn't caused problems beyond your fussing about it, and frankly I'm getting tired of it. It isn't going to change, Edric isn't going to leave. Stop wearing yourself and the rest of us out. It's pointless." Vilkas ground the heels of his hands into eyes, and Skjor grabbed his shoulder. "I know you're trying, brother," he murmured. "Don't think your efforts lately have gone unnoticed. They haven't."

"I…appreciate that." It was the truth.

"Edric's not going anywhere. You know he isn't. The war will take him away from here soon enough, and hopefully not permanently."

"There is a very good chance that it will."

Skjor tilted his head from side to side as his hand fell. "A decent chance, but not any more so than anyone else out there. So he can't heal. You think there's a healer every ten feet out on a battlefield? Anyone who can't heal themselves is at risk in a war. The beastblood will help in that regard, and you know it. We heal faster, have more stamina, and that's on top of his natural abilities as Dragonborn." He rubbed the top of his head. "Once we have Gallows Rock squared away I'm going to take the lad out, just the two of us. Take the nastiest job we've got and see exactly what he can do. Shouts, magic…I want to see it all. I want to know what he's capable of, see if he has any weak spots we can bolster before he goes. Whatever you saw at Dustman's Cairn was nothing. That little dance he did with me was nothing. He was holding back. He didn't hit anywhere near as hard as I know he can."

Just as Edric had said weeks ago. Fuck, but he was tired. Vilkas ran his hand through his hair, needing a haircut, needing a lot of things, but at least he could manage the haircut. He could ask Tilma to do it before he bathed tonight and enjoy the cossetting that she was always willing to hand out. He swore at times that she still viewed him and Farkas as little boys, though he admitted to himself that she had always babied him worse, perhaps in an attempt to counterbalance Jergen's harshness. Not that much could have offset that.

As he entered Jorrvaskr he saw Njada, Ria and Athis drinking and talking quietly together at the tables. The Nord woman looked spooked, still terrified by what she had seen and now having the privacy to show it. Ria had gone on a job with Edric and had probably already seen some of what he could do, but she looked troubled as well. As stoic as the Dunmer was he wouldn't let it show even if he was unsettled.

The three went quiet though as Vilkas passed, avoiding his eyes, maybe reminded of the part he had played in Torvar's death. If he had controlled himself and not gone after Edric that day maybe this could have been avoided. Torvar still would have wanted Edric dead, but he might not have found another way to achieve that until Edric's identity became public, and then he would have given up, one hoped. Surely Torvar still wouldn't have tried, not against the Dragonborn anyway. The man had admitted in public that he didn't care who he killed if they got in his way or simply pissed him off, so it really would have been only a matter of time before he would have given the Companions a bad name.

Vilkas shuddered as he went downstairs, feeling the echo of the shout that had ripped Torvar's will from him, and then the one that had ripped out his soul. The Dragonborn had been so cavalier about it too, sucking everything the man was out of him, his life force and then his very essence, with a flippant lack of concern.

Farkas could say all the wanted how very wonderful his mate was, but Vilkas was still convinced that Edric was a monster in human form. A very fair form to be sure, and he could be quite charming at times, but he was still a monster. To be fair, Vilkas admitted that he himself was one too, but at least what ailed him had a cure. There was no cure at all for the creature that Farkas was bedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure that this isn't exactly how the Soul Tear shout works, as I think you have to use all three words for it to function properly, but I took a bit of artistic license with it. I can't really put into words what I was trying to convey in this chapter as far as Edric's nature. He's not at all like Brynhilde in my other story, who is tender at heart and quick to help and comfort others, and who is in essence a sort of mother figure (much as the Hindu goddess Durga, sometimes more specifically the aspect Kali). Edric believes in honor and doing good deeds, but more as a matter of knowing it's what's right than any real caring. Empathy doesn't come easily to him a good part of the time, and when he's offended or angry it often doesn't come at all.
> 
> This is a lot shorter chapter than usual, sort of a Part One of Two, and I'm not particularly satisfied with it, but I'm tired of fussing with it, and knowing how long it's been since I updated I wanted to get something out there. The last five months at work have been a nightmare, my adult son moved back in two months ago, my six year old started at a new school, my husband got a new job... When I do get a bit of time to write my brain doesn't usually want to cooperate. I really appreciate everyone's patience.
> 
> On a brighter note, I put up more screenshots of Edric that I'm finally happy with on my Deviantart account. The link to that is on my profile page. I'm currently doing a playthrough following my headcanon of Edric's background before this story, and you can't even imagine the willpower it takes to mostly avoid Whiterun and ignore Jorrvaskr every time I go past it.


	32. Chapter 32

**Farkas**

"Well, I should turn in," Rorik said with a hint of regret.

 _Praise the Nine fucking Divines_ , Farkas thought in relief, thoroughly ready to go home. He had been fine at first, proud to sit at his man's side at the Jarl's dinner table, the one in Vignar's private quarters that Farkas had never seen before. But all too soon talk had drifted towards war and then to make matters worse the two old former Legionnaires had started _reminiscing_ for gods' sake and the big warrior's eyes had glazed over.

Farkas loved a good story as much as anyone, but that wasn't what had been going on here at all, and as much as he loved Edric his mate was apparently just as bad as an old man when it came to enjoying military talk. It had taken him by surprise, but in hindsight maybe it shouldn't have. The three of them were soldiers, or had been, Vignar commanding Legionnaires for over thirty years; both Rorik and Vignar had fought in the Battle of the Red Ring during the Great War, Vignar as a Legate under General Jonna, and Edric was clearly thrilled to listen to them talk about it.

Farkas was the direct opposite of thrilled, bored to the point of being ready to make up some excuse to leave. He had grown up listening to Vignar going on and on about the Great War and its pivotal battles, about life in the Legion, about Emperor Titus Mede II's many failings, about the evil 'witch-elves', about pretty much every goddamn thing, endlessly. Farkas enjoyed listening to Edric tell stories, but his man at least knew his audience, and he had different stories, and he had the skill of a bard when he told a tale, something Vignar and Rorik both did _not_ have. Farkas just didn't need more of Vignar's rambling in his life.

"Sure you won't stay and have another mead?" Vignar asked.

 _Gods, please don't,_ Farkas silently pleaded.

Rorik patted his belly. "No, no, I think I've had enough for one night, and I want to get an early start. It's a full day and then some back to Rorikstead and Jouane fusses when I'm away from home for long."

"Bring him with you next time then."

The old Thane shook his head. "He can't sit a horse any longer with his arthritis, and a wagon isn't much better for him. Better he stay at home by a warm fire, with his student waiting on him. Besides, I think he enjoys the break from this crotchety old bastard's company."

Farkas thought that was probably true. Rorik was as sour as they came, gloomy and negative, but he was a good man and ran his steading well and kept the western part of Whiterun Hold as well-protected as anyone could expect, and he had the extra challenge of Forsworn on the western fringes to deal with.

What Edric was expected to deal with was kind of a mystery, one that Farkas had been pondering while the three former soldiers talked. Vignar had said the Dragonborn could stay a Companion and keep his title, and then after the war he would be expected to be a Thane full-time and give his entire loyalty to Whiterun and its hold. In the meantime he would answer when Vignar called, to do…well, Thane things.

Farkas supposed it didn't really have anything to do with him, but he had to wonder what his future role would be as Edric's husband one day. Everything that had gone on today had started to really bring home to Farkas what he had gotten himself into. What else could he do, though? There was nothing he could do, or wanted to do, except be with his man. He would deal with everything as it came, the way he always had. He had always told himself that there was only today and had always thought Skjor wise when he said to keep your eyes on the prey, not the horizon. Edric had changed all that though.

The men rose from their seats and Farkas did as well, glad that he had only been trapped into dinner and not whatever they had talked about before he showed up. And ye gods could Edric talk when it was a subject he was interested in. It was cute really, seeing him like that; he had passionately analyzed every detail of the Battle of the Red Ring and gone on and on about the military genius behind the different strategies. Farkas didn't see how it could be so great when just about everybody had died, but what did he know?

Rorik took his leave, his housecarl in tow, a burly and rough-looking woman who looked like she was part Orc and about as friendly as one.

"So," Vignar drawled as he took his seat again.

Edric didn't answer, and Farkas glanced at him to see him eyeing the half-empty mug of mead Rorik had left behind. Farkas hadn't drunk anything but water, and Vignar had kept his own drink as far from the Dragonborn as he could, but Farkas could smell it, and if he could, so could Edric. He could see his lover's throat bob as he swallowed. Tiny beads of sweat were starting to break out on his smooth upper lip.

Farkas got up and took all the alcohol off the table, along with any mugs that had held it, including the Jarl's own, and Vignar rubbed along his jaw and said in a tone of apology, "I'm sorry, lad. There wasn't any way for me to get around it."

"You could've just told Rorik," Farkas grumbled. "It's not like he's gonna spread it around." The old Thane would have understood, having plenty of his own demons to wrestle with. Vignar sighed and nodded, looking guilty. The Companion took his seat again, seeing his mate's left knee start to bounce as he rubbed his palms on the arms of the chair. Farkas leaned against him and gently grabbed the back of his neck, rubbing it with his thumb. The skin there was clammy. "You did good," he murmured.

"Sure," Edric whispered. "Right."

All Farkas could do at that was let it go.

Vignar seemed to do so as well, pouring himself water as he stated, "You need a housecarl."

"Fuck no," the Dragonborn said in offended disbelief, wiping the sweat off his lip with the back of his wrist. "No goddamn way. Never again."

The Jarl leaned forward and said, "You. Can't. Heal."

"Yes. I. Know."

Vignar's lips pursed as he stared the young man down and the Dragonborn glared back, and Farkas interjected, "He has a whole hall full of housecarls. The Companions are good enough. Long as he doesn't do a job alone he'll be fine." And he'd damn well better not go alone, no matter how minor he thought the task was. Now that he was a member of the Circle he was responsible for mentoring the juniors, and it was expected that he take at least one of them with him on every job. Farkas was certain he would, but he was going to make certain of it before he left for Gallows Rock tomorrow night.

"You have a point," the Jarl conceded. "All right then, I'll let it go for now. You've got enough shit to manage without me forcing someone on you." He leaned back again. "What I would like to know is how you're going to cope with the blood on a battlefield," he finished in a lowered voice. There were alone in here, not even Olfina present, but it never paid to be indiscreet.

"I already have it all worked out," Edric stated. "Kodlak and I talked it over. It won't be a problem."

Farkas frowned at his odd tone. Gods, his lover was weird sometimes. He didn't think the two of them could be more different if they tried. He knew that confident, no-nonsense tone of voice by now, he knew it really damn well. It was the tone that said that the Dragonborn had decided on a course of action, one that was going to solve a problem quickly and completely, one that some people probably weren't going to like. It was a tone that made Farkas really, really nervous.

He debated asking, for all of two seconds, and decided he really didn't want to know. It was partly because he knew it would probably be unsettling, just like the Torvar soul gem, which Edric still had in his belt pouch since he hadn't changed out of his armor yet. It was also partly because he didn't feel like he should stop Edric from whatever he had planned. Whether you liked how he did it or not, Edric got shit done, usually in the fastest and most efficient way possible.

And who knew, maybe it wasn't so bad. Maybe. He could believe that, if he didn't know that his mate treated every aspect of his life the way he did military strategy. Everything was analyzed and looked at logically. Everything had to be done in a way that made sense to Edric, even if it didn't make sense to anyone else until after everything was said and done. Farkas knew Edric had even gone into their relationship that way.

He knew his lover didn't think and feel the way most people did, and he didn't believe it was all a Dragonborn thing no matter what Edric said. Farkas didn't know much about dragons, but he didn't think they were quite like Edric. The occasional coldness and lack of empathy might be from that, but that calculated planning and impatience with anyone who didn't get him wasn't a dragon thing, he was sure of that.

His mate was difficult at times, and he could be scary cold, and sometimes a little cruel, like he had been today, but Torvar had asked for it, he really had, and Edric was warm when it mattered, with Farkas and those few he let in past his walls. There were only a few though that he allowed. It was like Edric didn't really seem to… _see_ people, sometimes. He knew they were there but it was like they didn't really register with him as people, individual people with feelings, unless something clicked for him with that person, and then once they were in, they were in.

And Edric was so closed off at times it was like _he_ was the one who wasn't there, but Farkas understood that. Vilkas was like that. Vilkas needed his alone time. Vilkas didn't enjoy staying up all night feasting and drinking and singing and talking. Well, Farkas didn't really like to either, unless it was with people he really liked. Family. The Companions. But still, he liked people, in ways that his brother and his lover did not. Vilkas and Edric were so much alike it was scary, and the only real difference seemed to be that Vilkas let his emotions rule him a lot of the time, while Edric almost never did. Even when he should.

"Just like that," Vignar said in quiet disbelief. "Care to share the details?"

"No sir, I do not," Edric replied. "The old man gave me his confidence. I'm not breaking that for anyone."

The talk. Farkas remembered now, the talk between Kodlak and Edric, after the former Harbinger's stroke. Kodlak had wrung promises out of his son, though how hard that had been to do Farkas really didn't know. All he knew was that Edric had promised to 'fix things' if they went wrong, and he wouldn't say any more than that, not that Farkas had tried to get it out of him. It was something Kodlak really hadn't wanted anyone else to know, so that was that.

No, _when_ things went wrong. Not if; when. Edric and Kodlak both had known the situation in Jorrvaskr would go to Oblivion; Edric had said he could feel it, and gods only knew what the old man's dreams had shown him. It was more than a little scary. While it was good that Edric was here to deal with whatever happened, it was hard not to be kind of afraid as to how he would.

He raised his eyes to his lover's, and Edric's cool silver gaze met his own, searching, then the Dragonborn's knee jiggled again as he looked away. Farkas could see the signs of nervousness in the younger man, all the little things that probably no one else saw, that he saw only because they lived together now and had spent so much time talking over the last five days.

Farkas didn't know what to say. There wasn't anything he could say and not make things impossible between them. Edric was going to do what he was going to do, and Farkas knew it was something people wouldn't like, that Farkas himself probably wouldn't like, and what was more it was something Edric had sworn to his father. He wouldn't break that vow even for the man he loved.

The Companion dropped his eyes to the table, unsure of how to feel at that moment. Edric had things already all worked out. He never stopped thinking, never stopped planning, never...just stopped. Even at the quietest of times, when Farkas was sitting in their quarters carving and Edric was reading or playing the lute, he could tell his lover was mulling _something_ over. Farkas liked that about him, how smart he was, how much thought he put into everything he did. But this, whatever _this_ was...

If Farkas was his twin, knowing Edric was keeping secrets, he would start picking at it the moment they left the Jarl's company. He would push at Edric and make demands. He would drive them both mad, refuse to let it go until he got the result he wanted, which he wouldn't, and they would fight, over and over, until the bitterness and resentment set in. It would have to, because Edric wouldn't bend, wouldn't give in. Not when he had made an oath to someone.

No, whatever this was, this was a course of action Edric had set himself on and there wasn't a force in this world that could make the Dragonborn deviate from it. Not even love.

_This is what I am. I fix things._

So he had to let it go. He had to, for his own sake and the sake of their relationship. For Edric's sake too.

He kept his eyes off his lover's, giving Edric space, keeping his own turmoil to himself. It wasn't as if the other man could control what he saw. So Farkas left it alone, debating whether he should even bring it up, tell his mate he hated the thought of...whatever it was, but that he wasn't going to waste time and effort fighting it. He didn't want to fight with Edric, period, and the only thing that had ever brought them to the edge of that was Vilkas. Whatever it was that Edric was hiding this time had nothing to do with Vilkas, and their time together was going to be short enough as it was without wasting time fussing.

They managed to escape Vignar's presence not long after, Farkas lost in his own thoughts and only barely aware of what the two had spoken of after that, but he had felt Edric's attention on him the entire time and could smell the hints of distress in the air. It was upsetting, but also kind of reassuring, that his man knew something was bothering Farkas and cared so much that it was.

But he kept his mouth shut and his expression as calm as he could, letting Edric take his hand as they left Dragonsreach. He could feel how sweaty the smaller man's palm was, and when they reached the first landing on the stairs his mate gently pulled him to a stop.

"Farkas," he whispered. " _Miingi…_ "

"Yeah?" the Companion replied, uneasy. Edric frowned and nibbled at his lip, looking down at the Gildergreen. Farkas could swear it had grown another foot in the last few weeks. His mate seemed to be having trouble getting this out, but it was good that he wanted to. Edric couldn't tell exactly what Farkas had been thinking, but he could tell that the Companion knew that he was going to do something Farkas probably wouldn't approve of.

"I have to do what I have to do," Edric finally blurted out, his voice rising in pitch at the end.

Farkas sighed and resisted the temptation to let go of his partner's hand. "I get that," he grumbled. "I got no idea what it is you're up to, other than that people probably won't like it, but I get it, all right? I can't stop you and I'm not going to make us both miserable trying." Edric let out a hissing breath and rubbed his face then left his hand there, his eyes squeezed shut. Farkas tightened his grip on the other hand. "I'm just going to ask you this one thing. I want you to promise me one thing." Edric waited, but he didn't say no. "Don't do anything I can't live with," Farkas softly pleaded. "That's all I'm asking."

Edric shuddered, knowing what Farkas was getting at. He would never stop loving his mate, probably wouldn't be able to physically stop himself from loving him if there was a bond there by then, but he couldn't stay with someone who would do...well, he had no idea what, but it had to be bad if Edric was so riled up about it. He had to trust in his mate's honor, the honor he had held to all along, for the most part. The only halfway dishonorable thing he had seen his lover do was take Torvar's soul, and even then the Jarl had given the man's life to the Dragonborn to do with as he saw fit.

Edric nodded and pulled Farkas' hand to his chest, the ebony plate cold. "I swear," he vowed, his voice shaking a bit. "I swear on the Nine that I wouldn't do that." Farkas let out a breath of relief. "But...you still may not like it," Edric added. Of course he had to add that.

"I don't care," Farkas stressed. "That'll be my problem to live with. I just want it to be something I _can_ live with." He crooked his finger under his man's chin and tilted his head up, and Edric grimaced and met Farkas' eyes. The big warrior clucked his tongue at the anxiety there then backed up a few steps to go down one so they could be eye to eye.

"How do you keep doing this to me?" the Dragonborn muttered. "Anyone who says you aren't smart doesn't know what the fuck they're talking about."

"Don't know. Does it matter?"

"No," Edric whispered. "Not at all." He rubbed his thumb along Farkas' big hand then lifted it and kissed each knuckle then rubbed his cheek against it and held it there. "I'm sorry. That you keep getting caught up in my shit. I never wanted that."

Farkas grunted. "Can't be helped. I love you. There isn't any other way it can go." He stroked the scarred cheek with the back of his hand, drawing his mate's gaze again. "If you promise, then I trust that you won't do anything too bad. I trust you."

"Ah, Farkas," he breathed. He squeezed the Companion's hand then gave it a quick kiss then leaned close for just a moment to give him a peck on the lips.

Farkas petted his sweetroll hair, and Edric kept hold of his hand and he loved it. He had never held hands with any other man but Edric, and it warmed him every time. He loved that his mate never hesitated to show him affection in public no matter who was watching. He loved that he could finally be exactly who and what he wanted to be without worry, and Edric was a big part of that. If Edric hadn't come along, Farkas might never have felt driven to be honest about it, with himself or Vilkas. If Edric hadn't come along… Well, there was no point thinking about that.

Edric mumbled, "So...tonight. If everything goes well. Could we...stay out all night and tomorrow? Just you and me?"

"Of course we can." He squinted up at the sky. It was a bit cloudy but it looked like it would hold. The nights were getting pretty cold, but that was just good snuggling weather. Skjor wanted to take Edric well away from the city for his first hunt, into the hills behind Shimmermist Cave. A wolf's howl carried for miles, and the Dragonborn's voice could carry even farther than that, but it didn't seem like it would with the howl. No one had detected it while he was stuck inside the Underforge, and gods knew Edric had made enough noise in there. Still, it didn't pay to take chances this first time.

It was sweet though that Edric wanted to stay out with him after the hunt. Maybe Edric thought he could finally tolerate being intimate again. Sexually intimate anyway. There had been plenty of petting and sniffing the last five days, lots of talking and cuddling, plenty of that kind of intimacy, but his mate had been mostly uninterested in anything sexual on his end. Edric had held him while he took care of his own needs, or had given him a helping hand, but nothing beyond that. Farkas didn't mind. Getting Edric better was the most important thing.

"I'm going to head to the temple for a while," Edric murmured, looking past the taller man to the plaza below. "I haven't been in since...since."

Farkas nodded. Edric rarely went more than a day or two without visiting the temple, so ten days was a real stretch for him, but he'd had good reason. "Sure. I'll walk you there."

It was impossible not to feel self-conscious as they made their way down the steps, guards falling out of Edric's way, their eyes wide and wary inside their helmets, or their gaze averted in those not wearing any. The people in the plaza watched the Dragonborn with either fear or fascination. It was pretty unsettling, really, but it was what it was, and everyone was just going to have to get used to it. Farkas could tell Edric was unhappy with the attention and being out in the open, without a mask or helmet to hide behind, the way he was used to, but he covered it well, his expression neutral and seemingly unconcerned. Farkas could tell though that he hated this. What else could they do though? Edric had every right to live out in the open. They would just have to get used to it. Everyone would.

As they reached the plaza Farkas ventured, "The tree looks real pretty, honey. Look how big it's getting."

"Ah," Edric said in realization, a slight smile touching his face as his gaze focused on the sapling. It seemed to have pulled him out of his stewing.

They walked over to the tree, now nearly four feet high, twice the size it had been when they brought it to Whiterun. It perfumed the air heavily, the scent a combination of flowers and dragon spice. Farkas thought it much prettier than the old tree, more vibrant, but it was a baby tree, just at the beginning of its long life.

Edric stepped into the tree's space and Farkas tensed a bit, seeing everyone watching. The tree was off limits for now, Danica making it clear that the sapling was still young and fragile and it was not to be touched or the soil trampled, but the Dragonborn obviously didn't care a whole lot about that. The guards that patrolled the area looked anxious but didn't stop him, and Farkas wasn't about to either, though he heard the temple doors open and close as someone went inside.

A breeze blew through the branches as Edric leaned close to take a deep breath then kiss a blood-streaked blossom. " _Kaan kogaan_ , _mal gein_ ," he whispered.

Farkas was going to ask what that meant, but someone was coming back out of the temple. It was Danica, looking agitated, one of the guards behind her, though the man quickly made himself scarce. Farkas grew hot with irritation as he realized the guard had _tattled_. A grown fucking man had run to the priestess and snitched on the Dragonborn. It was a damn good thing Farkas couldn't tell who the guy was inside his helmet or he would be getting a fist in the face later, even if it meant paying a fine and staying in jail overnight. Wouldn't be the first time.

Edric straightened up as she approached but didn't move away from the tree, deliberately so, and his expression cooled as he stared at her. The priestess looked nervous but determined to have her say, and Farkas really hoped she wasn't going to cause a scene out here. He couldn't see why she would get annoyed by Edric touching the tree when he was the one who had made it. Or had helped Kyne make it. Same thing. The tree carried Edric's blood. It was his child, in a way. If anyone had the right to touch it, it was him.

"Companions," Danica said in a lowered voice as she neared. Farkas nodded in greeting, then she turned her eyes on Edric, her lips pursing. " _Dovahkiin_ ," she corrected. Her expression tightened. "All this time, right under my nose. I can't believe I didn't see it for myself. I feel like a fool."

"I had my reasons," Edric stated, without a hint of apology.

"Aye, I don't doubt that. Just as I suppose you have your reasons for selling your soul to a Daedra?"

"Hey," Farkas said in warning. Sure, no one was close enough to hear, but he couldn't believe she was flat out saying it in the heart of the city with dozens of people watching and not even bothering to hide that they were. He'd thought she was pissed about the tree. Farkas would rather it was the tree right now.

Edric's eyes narrowed as he told the priestess, "The state of my soul really isn't your concern."

Danica folded her arms and leaned towards him as she said in a firm tone, "Kyne is the mother of beasts and men. Hircine corrupts her work by melding the two into an unholy abomination!"

"Hey!" Farkas repeated in offense, and again was ignored. He couldn't understand where this was coming from. Danica had always been a friend to the Circle. An ally. It hurt to hear her saying these things. It made him wonder just how genuine her friendship had been, or if it had just been some kind of convenience all along, acceptance of a thing that couldn't be changed, that she had no choice but to accept due to the Companions' influence.

Edric folded his arms as well, saying, "Is this your opinion, or the Divine's?" He didn't wait for an answer, continuing, "I realize my choice isn't ideal, however I didn't so much sell my soul as direct it towards a more palatable afterlife option. Hermaeus Mora had a pretty strong claim to it. I visited Apocrypha multiple times early this summer and didn't find it to my liking. It's really fucking creepy, to be honest. Sort of Hell's library."

Farkas shuddered at the same time Danica did, the older woman looking ill. Edric had always hated talking about his experiences there, though he had been a bit more open about it since taking the beastblood. Maybe because he felt safe from it now. Everything Edric had told him about the place chilled Farkas to the bone.

"So," Edric finished with false cheer, "the Hunting Grounds it is!"

Danica said in a faint voice, "But...you are _Dragonborn_ , Edric. Beyond that, you were blessed of Kynareth. You were touched by her grace, and you throw it away to worship a Daedra?"

The younger man's expression hardened and he stepped away from the tree, making Danica lean back slightly. "I do _not_ worship Hircine," he stated in irritation, poking his finger her direction. "I will _never_ worship Hircine. This is an arrangement of mutual convenience. He keeps me out of Old Mora's hands, er, tentacles, and in exchange I run around and howl at the moon for the next forty years until he takes me."

"For his amusement! It won't end once you die! It will go on for an eternity!"

Edric's eyes narrowed. "You keep talking as if my place in Sovngarde was guaranteed. I assure you it was not. Not after Solstheim and the things I did there." He lifted his chin and stated in a firm tone, "My soul is my own, and no one else's, to do with as I please. I'm still me. I'm still Dragonborn. I'm still devoted to Kyne, whether she bestows her favor on me or not. That will never change. If she closes herself to me because of this, so be it, and I will grieve it, but my mind is made up."

Danica grunted, a look of disapproval on her face. "I suppose it will have to be, won't it? What's done is done, and there is no going back."

"No, there isn't," he agreed.

That wasn't quite true, of course, but Farkas wasn't going to be the one to say so. Someday there would be a cure, and the two of them could take it if they wanted, but it seemed dishonest to do that, to enjoy the boons of the beastblood up until the last minute then cheat Hircine of his just dues. There was also the risk to Edric, which Farkas hadn't heard him mention before now, his fear that all the knowledge and power he had gained from Hermaeus Mora had doomed him to an eternity in Apocrypha. In addition to all that, taking the cure would mean breaking the bond between them, the one that was only now starting to form. Farkas could barely feel it there, a soft, fragile thread between them, hardly noticeable at all, but he did feel the tiniest bit different these days. He couldn't describe how, but it was good.

"Am I banned from the temple?" Edric asked.

"Well no, of course not, but-" The Dragonborn immediately strode past her and into the building. Danica sputtered but didn't stop him.

Farkas said in a hurt voice, "Unholy abominations. That's what we are to you?" Was that what they had always been to her?

"I...should not have said that," the priestess said in a careful tone.

"But you thought it, right?" She pinched her nose and squeezed her eyes shut. Farkas pressed, "We're not monsters. We're not doing secret rituals and eating babies." Well, they did sort of have rituals, when a new member joined, but none of the Circle actually worshipped Hircine except Aela. Skjor revered the Master of the Hunt, and Farkas respected and feared Hircine, but they didn't worship him. And none of the Circle had ever eaten a baby. A baby person, anyway.

She sighed and lowered her hand. "Yes Farkas, but you have still handed your soul over to a Daedra."

"But it's _my_ soul, just like he said."

"Hircine has twisted Kyne's work," Danica stated. Farkas didn't have an answer for that, frowning at her with a wounded expression. "Oh, gods' sake," she sighed heavily. "Don't look at me like that."

"I can't believe you called us that." The Circle had always trusted Danica. Farkas had always trusted her. She had never given them reason not to. Being called an unholy abomination was almost a reason. The priestess had the decency to look a little guilty, so he left it alone, but he was sure as hell going to tell the others. Skjor and Aela anyway. Vilkas would only agree with her.

He shook his head and walked away. He wasn't going to debate with the High Priestess of Kynareth. He wasn't one for debating anyway. He'd leave that to his mate, and if anyone could get through to her it would be Edric. Maybe there wasn't any getting through to her. Farkas was well aware of how everyone felt about werefolk, and it wasn't like they didn't have good reason for it. Maybe it was naïve of him to think the Circle should be viewed differently.

But it was _Danica_ , of all people. That was what hurt. He and Vilkas had grown up with her. They'd known each other all their lives.

"Farkas, wait…"

He huffed and stopped on the stairs to Jorrvaskr, trying not to scowl, knowing how it made him look. Vilkas could do it and manage to look dark and moody and mysterious; it just made Farkas look like a thug who was about to bust someone's face in. At least he wasn't wearing armor or war paint right now. He felt a hesitant touch on his arm and he grumbled. "That just really hurts, you know," he muttered.

"I know, I'm sorry, but...surely you understand how difficult this is to accept," she said with difficulty.

"Not really. I accept it just fine. It's what he wants. I can't give him much, I know, but I can give him that."

She squeezed his arm, her expression softening. "I know you love him," the priestess stated. "And he loves you. He needs you, I know that. If…well, if that is tied up in the choice he made, after all he has lost and suffered…so be it. I still disapprove, but I won't trouble him any further about it." The last of the tension left the big warrior's body, and she took her hand away. "I would watch him pray, you know. When he first came to Whiterun. The way he prayed changed after you began courting him. It was... well, it isn't my place to say. A person's prayers are a private thing, even if I never could make them out. He always makes certain no one can hear him."

"He prays in the dragon tongue. That's why."

"As the Greybeards do, yes, I am certain he must," Danica said, looking uncomfortable again, "and I can only hope that the goddess doesn't turn her favor-"

"Her favor," Farkas interjected. "What good has her favor done him?" She clucked her tongue. "I mean it, Danica. He doesn't owe anyone shit, let alone a Divine, after everything he's done. He spent half a year shouting to Kyne at the top of a mountain while he was in agony. Her priests made it that way, instead of being merciful and letting him die and be with his man again."

He feared she would ask how he could love Edric and say that, well, he wasn't selfish, that was how. Everything Edric suffered while he was in Sovngarde and afterward had left a permanent mark on his soul. Farkas still vividly remembered the day the Dragonborn had come to speak to Kodlak and how much more lively the young man had been then, quicker to jest, more cheerful, lighter in spirit. Edric would laugh and smile now, but it wasn't always easy for him to get there, and it never lasted long. It would have been a mercy for the Greybeards to let him die when he returned from Sovngarde gravely wounded and widowed, widowered, whatever it was, and instead they had locked him into a body that for all they knew would cause him unbearable suffering the rest of his life. Farkas wouldn't wish that on anyone, let alone the man he loved.

When she didn't naysay him, Farkas continued, "I know you don't get why he did it, but trust me that he thought it out. Believe me, he _really_ thought it out." Love could make Edric consider things he otherwise might not, but in the end love wasn't the only reason he had chosen to take the beastblood. Maybe it wasn't even the main reason, but the result was the same no matter what.

"I am certain he did," she replied. "It's the idea though. Of a hero of the dragon blood, the last of his kind, serving a Daedric Prince."

Farkas rolled his eyes. "Yeah, we'll see how much serving really gets done." The Lord of the Hunt was going to get a rude awakening if he thought he would be the one to bring the Dragonborn to heel. Especially a really feisty Dragonborn who detested being told what to do and how to do it.

"I hope you are right." She fiddled with the cuff of her robe. "I ah, would appreciate if you didn't tell the rest of the Circle. About the, well…"

"Unholy abomination thing?"

"Yeah, that. I spoke a bit too hastily. I meant no offense."

"Sure, Danica," he agreed. "No harm done." He could tell she felt bad, and he wasn't the kind to hold a grudge. She had been upset about Edric, that was all. Farkas didn't know what else to say about it without exposing more of the Circle's secrets, so he left at that and took his leave.

He stopped at the top of the steps and saw Danica checking on the tree, and he ignored the spark of fresh offense it caused. As if Edric was going to harm the tree! Well, fine, it was her duty. Fair enough.

He then saw the guard who had tattled come out from behind the temple. A lot of them looked the same in their helmets and armor, but he just knew it was the same guy, and when the guard froze in midstep that clinched it. Farkas pointed at his eyes then at the guard, mouthing _I'm gonna find you, asshole_ , and the man fled back the way he came, walking briskly all the way through the Wind District then disappearing.

Irritated, Farkas grumbled and went inside. He'd know who the guy was when he went off duty, sooner or later. The guard wouldn't be able to help acting nervous. Farkas probably wasn't going to kick the guy's ass, _probably_ , but a little roughing up might not land him in jail overnight. Even if it did, he'd pay the fine the next morning and still feel like it had been a bargain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda not terribly pleased with this chapter...lots of introspection on Farkas' part and kind of wordy without a lot actually happening. Eh, it is what it is, and it's been six months since this was updated and that's just unacceptable. Not as bad as the year I went on the other one, but I still feel like I should get something out there. The next chapter is nearly finished and continues this one. I want to avoid super long chapters from here on out, but I haven't been able to manage that yet, so we'll see how that goes.
> 
> I think MBTI types are interesting, even if the consensus in the psychology community is that they're pretty much worthless. Edric strikes me as a strong INTJ. I'm one myself but of course nothing like he is, not even close. Vilkas seems more like a definite ISTJ, or would be if the bleastblood wasn't unbalancing him. I've gone back and forth on Farkas but think ISFJ might suit him.
> 
> And yes, I ship Rorik/Jouane Manette. :D


	33. Chapter 33

**Farkas**

"Fuck, it's cold."

Aela rolled her eyes at her newest pack brother's complaint. "Yes, it's Skyrim and it's Sun's Dusk," she stated. "You'll warm up soon enough, pup."

"You going to stop calling me that anytime soon?" Edric countered. "I'd hate to have to start calling you Ma."

Skjor threw his tunic to the ground with a laugh, and even Aela had to chuckle. "Fair enough," she conceded.

"'Cause you're maybe five or six years older than me," he went on, "and that would be a shame."

"All right already."

Farkas sighed happily to himself as the two bickered good-naturedly while the group undressed in the small pine grove near the Shrine of Talos, to the northwest of town. This was so great. They'd be hunting as a pack again. As a family.

Beyond that, it was good to see Edric joking, even if he wasn't smiling. His man had come back to the mead hall from the temple in an obviously bad mood, grunting at anyone who tried to talk to him, though few of the Companions had dared after the scene with Torvar earlier that day. He had gone directly to their room and Farkas had followed, wary of trying to force anything out of him, and instead had silently helped him out of his armor. Farkas was going to ask later what the mood was about, though. He wasn't letting something like that go. Maybe it was just Danica, maybe it was something else, but he couldn't ignore it.

They had spent the last couple hours quietly, Farkas starting a new carving, a giant this time, to go with the finished mammoth; Edric oddly enough had rolled out a map of Skyrim on the bed and studied it intently, tracing his finger across it in different directions as if he was planning a trip. Multiple trips even. It hadn't looked like any map of the country that Farkas had ever seen, covered with labels he couldn't decipher and additional features, and he wondered if it was one Edric had made himself, or at least marked up heavily. Another thing to ask about later, when his mate's mood improved. Hunting was good for that.

He tossed his clothes down on top of their tent and gear, anticipation rising. This would be the first time Edric would transform of his own will. The first half dozen times were a little scary, deliberately bringing on the change, but with most of the pack here Edric would be all right. If he went crazy there wouldn't be much they could do about it, but at least they were well away from the city, and worst case they could try to direct him deeper into the hills. Farkas didn't think Edric would get too out of control, now that he was past the worst of withdrawal and wouldn't be so confused.

As the group stripped off the last of their clothes, Skjor counseled, "Best if you go last, lad." He let out a sigh. "I doubt we can contain you much better than the first time, but we'll have at least some chance of it that way."

Farkas saw his man's hands tremble then bunch into fists, the pulse leaping in the hollow of his throat. He clucked his tongue and moved close and Edric immediately stepped into him and put his face into Farkas' shoulder, the scent of anxiety rising from him. "Hey, it's okay," he murmured, his arms going around the smaller man. "It'll be fine Edie, you'll see."

"I don't want to hurt you! Again!" Edric's voice was rising in pitch, his entire body starting to shake, and Farkas could feel sweat breaking out on his back.

Skjor muttered, "Shit. I shouldn't have said that. That was...ill-considered, lad. I don't think it will be the same this-"

"You don't know that!"

Aela reached out to touch Edric's shoulder and he jerked away, but she persisted, grabbing it more firmly as she said, "It _won't_ happen-"

"You don't know that!" he repeated, pulling free of Farkas and backing away, his hands going to his head. "Fuck, I can't do this. I can't!"

"You can, and you will," she demanded. "You have to learn to manage your beast. You aren't going to pull a Vilkas and pretend it isn't there. We don't need two of you in the hall."

 _That_ got a reaction out of him, his arms dropping to his sides as he looked at her with an expression that could have curdled milk. "Ohh," he drawled, his nose wrinkled. "Oh, that's _low_. That's just...just _low_."

"Then get a grip on yourself. I think Skjor's right that this time will be different." She pointed at the two warriors. "Farkas and Skjor will go first, then me. Try to hold on until all three of us are done transforming." He nodded, calmer now. Aela stepped close and took hold of his shoulders and gave them a shake. "You'll be _fine_ ," she soothed. "Just stay close to…" She trailed off, seeing Edric looking at her breasts with his eyebrows raised. "Do you mind?"

"I've just never seen any up close before. Didn't think they'd be quite so...jiggly."

Aela shoved him away as Farkas guffawed and Skjor let out a bark of a laugh, shaking his head. Edric chuckled as he caught himself and winked at her, and she rolled her eyes and snapped her fingers at the two men. "Get to it, then."

Farkas was glad to see his lover laughing and joking, the brief panic under control now. He could see that Aela was amused, a corner of her mouth twitching as she shook her head at the younger man.

Skjor bent down then hunched over as the change began, and Farkas watched the amusement slip from Edric's face, replaced with fear again as he watched the Harbinger transform. He knew his mate was afraid of the change, but he hadn't seemed all that afraid the times he had seen Farkas do it. Maybe he just wasn't afraid of Farkas. Maybe before he hadn't been afraid for himself the way he was now.

"It'll be okay," he assured his mate once more. It didn't seem to register at first, then Edric gave a tiny nod. Farkas stepped back enough to be non-threatening, or at least less threatening, then he pushed and let the transformation go.

When he came back to himself, Edric was still watching Skjor, and Farkas stepped towards his mate. Edric tensed and Farkas whined and squatted down, trying to make himself smaller, and saw the young man relax, just a little. He didn't want to take the chance of accidentally hurting Edric, who didn't even have the protection of clothing at the moment, all pale and naked and vulnerable, but oh so pretty in the moonlight.

Aela said in a gentle tone, "The first time is always the most intense. Just roll with it. Don't fight the change this time and let it take you." Edric pulled his eyes away from the scarred up old one-eyed wolf, who was watching, and when Aela waved her hand at him the gray beast went down on his haunches as well. Edric relaxed further, and Aela went to him once more, putting her hands on his shoulders again. "You can do this, brother," she said with confidence, her tone gentle. "I have faith in you."

"I don't want to hurt anyone," he replied in a fearful whisper.

"Then don't." He made a choking sound, and she moved her hands up to grasp either side of his face. "Mind me," she counseled. He took hold of her wrists, his silver eyes big and glossy. "Stay close to me and do as I do. Run with me. We might not find game tonight, but that doesn't matter. We'll just run."

"Aye."

She smiled encouragingly at him, the kind of gentle smile that Farkas had rarely seen from her, but then Edric was her pup. She let go and backed away. Edric shuddered as she began to change, and Farkas forgot himself and crept close again. His mate ignored him, twitching as his eyes began to turn yellow, the call of the pack too much for him to ignore.

Farkas stayed close, wincing when he heard his mate cry out in pain and clutch his chest. It was always that way, that first hard blow to the heart that let you know that the change was coming and there was no stopping it. The transformation was a hard one, he could tell, but he could also tell that Edric was fighting it. It was pointless trying, but that was just his mate's way. Someday maybe he would change smoothly and easily, as Aela did, but Farkas didn't think that would happen anytime soon.

The brindled werewolf knelt shuddering and panting on the ground. Farkas crept close, the memory of sharp teeth and claws still fresh but not enough to keep him away. He heard a whimper in response and bumped his mate's shoulder with his head, and the young male whined loudly and lifted his own to look at him. He was as beautiful as before, slim and sleek, not much bigger than Aela. Farkas gave his muzzle a tentative lick then a nose rub, and when Edric moved he braced himself for an attack, seeing the other two wolves do the same.

Instead his mate slid his cheek along Farkas'. The big black wolf felt a surge of warmth and returned the gesture. _This_ was what he had wanted since realizing he loved Edric: the two of them together and the same. The smaller wolf made a needy sound and nuzzled Farkas' neck and Farkas responded in kind, that warmth growing into something else, something he didn't know what to do with, not in this form with another male, but he was pretty sure they could figure it out, the two of them.

Aela barked in annoyance and Skjor huffed and rose to his feet. Farkas had forgotten it _wasn't_ just the two of them. He lifted his head and felt a twinge of resentment towards the other male and female. He didn't want to hunt. He wanted to be alone with his mate. It was nice having the pack together again, other than the missing brother, but at the moment the pack mattered much less than pair-bonding. The hunt mattered less than that, even. All Farkas wanted right now was to roll around in the grass with his mate and solidify this thing that he could feel growing between them. The other two were interfering in that. The other two were unwelcome.

He bared his teeth and let out a deep, rolling growl as he moved to shield his mate from their view. Unwelcome. Interfering. He felt a nose along his back then a clawed hand grasp his shoulder, and he growled more loudly at the red and gray wolves in an effort to make them leave. Packmates or not, they were somewhere they shouldn't be.

The red wolf snarled in aggravation, and the one-eyed male bumped her shoulder then trotted off, knowing better than to waste his time. The female persisted, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she tried to move close, and Farkas swiped at her to make her back off. She circled around behind him, and he twisted around to snap at her, dislodging Edric who growled at Aela in irritation.

A gravelly howl sounded from nearby, and the female answered, and that finally drew his mate's attention away from their closeness. Farkas huffed, frustrated, but when Edric let out a howl of his own he set his anger aside. The howl was a pup's call, warbling and inexperienced, yet still echoing off the nearby hills with a soft resonating boom. Edric rose to his feet then took a few hesitant steps towards his forebear.

Satisfied, Aela took off at a run, glancing over her shoulder to make certain she was being followed, and Edric launched himself after her. His gait was awkward and he lost his footing at first, unused to running in this body, but Farkas stayed at his side, the two of them lightly bumping into each other as they went. Skjor howled again and Aela paused to answer then quickened her pace. Game. Fresh meat.

His frustration forgotten as his mate sprinted ahead, the black wolf followed after him, taking up the end position to watch Edric's back. A newborn werewolf was an ungainly, unskilled creature and would normally fall to the back of the pack to observe and learn, but it wasn't Edric's way to follow, and Farkas wanted to keep an eye on him, the kernel of human awareness at the back of his mind knowing that his mate couldn't be healed if something went wrong.

It had been well over a year since the pack had hunted together, so the hunt wasn't as quick and efficient as it had once been, but between the three experienced hunters they rounded up a solitary old buck, still meaty and strong, but just past its prime. It would be just enough to feed all four of them, but it was still better game than Farkas had been able to find and take down on his own. Edric stayed out of the way, though it seemed hard for him to do so, watching the others corner the deer, yipping excitedly and running around the perimeter of the pack. It was cute, if distracting.

Skjor went for the throat, biting down on it, while Farkas jumped onto its back and bore it down. They were much larger than the deer, but they were still wary of hooves that lashed out and antlers that hadn't yet been shed. Between the two large males the prey was quickly dispatched, then they began tearing into the hide, Skjor going for the belly.

Aela joined them, choosing a haunch for herself. Edric sidled in next to Farkas, low to the ground and tail lowered, and the black wolf leaned against his mate and licked his muzzle. Encouraged, Edric lowered his head and took a bite then began to feed in earnest.

It was silent for long minutes other than the breaking of bones and tearing of hide, and the rush of the river nearby, down the hill. The deer was just enough to fill him up completely, and Farkas was the happiest he had been in ages, with the pack feeding together, and once they were done Farkas began licking his mate's muzzle to clean him off, earning him a pleased whine as Edric returned the favor. Aela tolerated Skjor's similar actions, but only for a minute or two before she snapped at him to make him back off and threw herself in the grass near the pair. Skjor flopped down next to her and she gave him a growl of warning, and he got the message, contenting himself with sitting close by.

Farkas ignored them, enjoying the smaller werewolf's attentions too much to mind that they were watching. He bumped his head against Edric's then found himself getting bowled over as his mate tackled him. They went rolling and he faintly heard grumbling from the female and the old one-eyed male, but it was hard to care when his nose was full of spicy, musky wolf and he was being pinned down by a small, strong body. He growled and rolled them over again, not an easy task, and he felt claws digging into his hips, sinking into fur and muscle, not quite breaking the skin, but it didn't hurt that much, and it wasn't as if Edric could control himself all that well yet, and beyond that some part of him found it pleasing. His mate was the same as him, and whole and healthy and strong.

A deep bark nearby tried to draw his attention, but he growled at the old male, pulling his lips back and baring his teeth. A growing male hardness bucked up into his own and he let out a gurgling snarl at the other two, telling them they were no longer welcome here. The female shook her head and and made a sweeping gesture with her hand, and when Farkas ignored her to nuzzle his mate she came close and gave him a shove.

Farkas lunged at her and she danced away then began barking furiously at him. Well, he'd had enough of that. He surged to his feet and went after her, snarling, but before he could catch up with her Skjor moved in between them. The gray male pushed Farkas back, growling low in the back of his throat, and Farkas grumbled and left off, not about to cross his forebear. The female sniffed in contempt then turned her back on him.

He ignored it, irritated, the moment lost. His mate was no longer in the mood and was gnawing at the deer carcass again.

He sat down heavily in the grass with a huff near Edric and his mate shuffled closer so that their sides were touching. The black wolf let out a long sigh and nuzzled his shoulder, breathing in wolf musk and that strange, wonderful dragon spice, though the smell of wolf was strongest.

Edric flipped over the carcass and began tearing apart the other side, and Farkas wondered in a vague, wolfish way where his smaller mate was managing to put it all. There wasn't much meat left, the pack having thrown the deer back and forth and stripped it fairly clean, but it was enough to bloody the other male's muzzle again.

When Aela woofed and slowly approached them again he allowed it. He would let her have her way tonight. It didn't matter. He and his mate would hunt alone together from now on, or Aela and Edric together. At least for a while.

She nudged the young male and he bared his teeth at her, and when she snapped at him and pushed him away from the carcass he gave in with a grumble. Skjor howled and they all joined in, the newborn werewolf's voice surer than before, then the old male ran down the hill toward the river, the pack following. They drank their fill, smashing any mudcrabs that came near, and when Edric sniffed at one then moved to eat it the other three barked at him in warning.

Aela got them moving again, back towards the place they had left their clothing in the grove, and when the gray wolf began edging towards her she growled in irritation, then swiped claws at him when he didn't back off.

It was amusing but of little interest, not the way it would have been before. The only thing that interested him was jogging at the smaller male's side. They ran alongside each other, bumping lightly against each other as they ran, staying close as they had all along. The wolf wasn't going to last much longer, and it was always best to return to the place they had first changed.

Skjor was the first to turn back, with Farkas close behind, and Edric cringed and whimpered as he watched, as if he had forgotten they had ever been human. Aela stepped towards him and he hurried to her side, butting his head into her, looking for reassurance, but it was short-lived as the change back came over her as well.

Farkas blew out a long breath, willing his heart to slow down, the ache in his bones fading. He quickly shook it off and went to their pile of belongings nearby. It had been a good hunt, but gods was it frustrating, having his mate there and no privacy to focus on each other. He was glad for the darkness as his face warmed, wishing the other two hadn't seen that display, and frankly kind of glad that Aela had put a stop to it before things had gotten completely out of-

"Edric, no!"

"Oh, shit!"

Aela's and Skjor's cries came a second before Farkas felt himself knocked over then covered by a warm, furred body. Meaty dog breath panted into his face followed by a broad tongue licking a wet stripe up his cheek, and he let out an uneasy laugh as he shuddered in distaste. Oh, this was rich. This was really rich, considering the way he had pawed at Edric their first time out. His mate was as big as him in this form, which was kind of novel, and...yeah, well, other things were bigger than usual too and frankly kind of scary, and this was...just wrong in so many ways. It was one thing when they were both wolves, but this was just not done. The pack had _never_ done that, and he wasn't about to start.

The Huntress and the Harbinger both tried to approach, while staying out of reach, and she demanded, "Edric, back off, now. Right now."

The brindled werewolf ignored her, nuzzling along Farkas' neck, his nose wet and cold, then the Companion stiffened and bit off a curse as teeth lightly nipped him under the ear. He put his hands on his mate's very broad shoulders and pushed him back, with little success. Gods, Edric was strong, and as big as Farkas right now, and at the moment Farkas was just a bit scared of him. He never had been, but a newborn werewolf's control was unreliable, and he just didn't know what Edric was going to do. The hot length along his hip told him what his mate wanted to do, and while it was great that Edric had gotten his desire back, this wasn't how Farkas wanted it. This was pretty much the last thing he wanted, not just because it was wrong, not just because it would hurt, but mostly because of how Edric would feel when he changed back and came to his senses.

Aela picked up a small stone and threw it at Edric, and it bounced off his flank unnoticed. Farkas yelled as his mate flipped him over onto his stomach in the grass, and he ignored the urge to scramble away, well aware of the sharp claws nearby.

The redhead ran in front of Edric, into his field of vision, and she knelt down and shouted, "Edric, stop it! You're hurting him!" The wolf growled at her, and she ordered Farkas, "Tell him. Tell him he's hurting you."

"But he isn't," he protested. Not much, anyway. He didn't want his lover remembering him saying that and feeling bad. Edric had plenty of other things making him feel bad without hearing that.

"He will," Skjor warned, "and there won't be a damn thing we can do about it, other than pull weapons on him."

"You'd better not!"

Aela yelled, "Make him back off, ice brain!"

Farkas shook his head. He couldn't. Not until Edric actually did something, and right now all he was doing was nuzzling Farkas' neck and head and grinding against his ass, not all that hard, not trying to actually… put it in or anything. By the Nine, that would be bad. Really bad. Well, at least Edric was warm, furry and very warm, and he recognized that Farkas was his mate, though it was worrisome that he wasn't minding Aela. He had earlier, and now he wasn't. Newbloods were supposed to mind their forebears.

Edric rubbed his cheek against the back of Farkas' head, rumbling tenderly, and Aela made a sound of exasperation and picked up another rock. "Don't," Farkas said in warning. "Just...just leave him alone and start heading back."

Aghast, Aela exclaimed, "We're not leaving you like this!"

"He isn't hurting me. You start throwing things at him and piss him off and he might." Edric wouldn't mean to, but Farkas would get caught in the middle. Aela threw her hands in the air and went to her clothes, and Farkas thought maybe she was as upset about not being obeyed by her pup as she was worried about her pack brother getting mauled. Farkas didn't think Edric would do it though. Farkas was a bit scraped up, but they both were after their affectionate tussle by the deer. It wasn't a big deal. The marks wouldn't scar, and even if they did they would make for nice souvenirs of their first hunt together. Vilkas would probably lose his shit over it, but that was Vilkas' problem.

Skjor asked, "You sure about this, brother?" His tone conveyed how much he didn't like just walking away from this.

"Yeah. He's just snuggling. He won't hurt me. I know he won't." He sounded more confident than he felt, but having the other two around wasn't helping, and he didn't really trust Aela to not make the situation worse by provoking Edric. The wolf seemed content with just this, covering Farkas and gently nuzzling and rubbing. He could handle that until Edric turned back, whenever that would be. His transformation seemed to last a bit longer than it should, but there was no knowing yet what was normal when it came to Edric's wolf.

"Snuggling," Skjor mused, glancing briefly at the situation before grimacing and walking away. "Right, we'll call it that," he muttered. He picked up his clothes and began pulling them on, Aela doing the same next to him, silently fuming. "I don't like this, you know."

Farkas sighed and laid his forehead on the ground. "Yeah."

But the Harbinger didn't push the matter, deferring to Farkas' judgment, and he appreciated that. Skjor knew that he understood Edric better than anyone, even if werewolf Edric wasn't quite the same as regular Edric. Or usual Edric. There was nothing regular about Edric at all.

Aela and Skjor dressed, and once they finished and picked up their weapons Aela turned away, still seeming upset about something. Edric, maybe. Skjor put his hand on her shoulder and murmured something to her that Farkas couldn't make out, not with the panting and huffing in his ear. Edric's excitement hadn't waned, but he wasn't pressing the issue either, content with holding Farkas down and smelling and licking him. The warrior didn't understand how Edric hadn't changed back yet, but maybe it was because he had hunted. That did make the wolf last longer, and Edric's seemed to last longer than most as it was.

If this was going to happen every time though, that was going to be a problem. Maybe it wouldn't be like this so much once they bonded, and once Edric learned some control. It wasn't as if Farkas hated this, but it was unsettling, being this vulnerable. Of course Edric had always been stronger than him, easily able to kill him if he wanted with just a few shouted words, probably even able to do so with just his bare hands, but there had always been control there. Edric's control was never an issue, and even the times that the Dragonborn had lost his temper and had been ready to act on it, it had been with full knowledge of what he was doing.

Skjor finally cleared his throat and said to Farkas, "All right then. We'll be back late tomorrow with horses and your armor." He paused. "And your brother."

"Yeah, fine." Vilkas was just going to have to suck it up and deal with it, and if he started making a big fuss out of things he was going to having a really fucking angry Farkas to deal with. He wasn't going to tolerate anyone interfering in this. This was his and Edric's alone and nobody had the right to get in the way or get involved.

After a silence that seemed to stretch on forever, Skjor asked in a dubious tone, "Are you _sure_ you're going to be okay?"

The big warrior lifted his head and shouted, "Yeah, I'm sure! It's not like I'm enjoying this, you know!" Edric whined and ran his tongue up Farkas' cheek, making the Companion shiver. It was hard not to get at least a little turned on by all this, but damn if it didn't feel wrong.

The older man shook his head. "I don't _want_ to know. Believe me, I don't." And with that he began the walk back to Whiterun.

Aela hesitated, looking at the two with undisguised worry, plain to see even in the moonlight. " _Farkas_ ," she stressed.

Touched, he said, "Trust me, sister, okay?" It wasn't like Aela to act like this, but then this had never happened before, and in a way she was responsible for Edric. If Farkas got mauled she would never forgive herself, he knew that. "I know he won't hurt me," he stated. "He's being gentle. He hunted and fed and everything is fine."

"I'm not leaving, damn it!"

Without pausing, Skjor called over his shoulder, "It isn't our business, Aela. Let them be."

She made a scoffing sound in the Harbinger's direction but he kept walking. She said in a sorrowful tone, "If you get hurt, it's my business. He's my pup, and you're my pack brother. You know he'll drive himself mad with guilt if he hurts you. You don't want him adding that to the shit he already carries around."

"I know. I really do, Aela. I wouldn't tell you guys to leave if I thought he would hurt me." Honestly, having them around wouldn't help much anyway. There really wasn't any way they could stop Edric short of killing or badly wounding him.

Aela rubbed her forehead then shook her head and picked up her unstrung bow and quiver. "Fine. But after he comes to his senses and you've...done the do-"

"Hey!"

"I want some kind of sign that you're okay. Have him, I don't know, send up a fireball or something. Whatever mages do. Anything, just to let us know you're okay."

He smiled at her and nodded. "Sure, Aela." It was kinda sweet that she was so concerned, concerned for _him_ , not just for Edric's potential bad feelings.

She watched them for a moment longer and Farkas blushed in the dark, turning his head away. All the years that they had spent that night in spring together he had never really felt all that self-conscious. Sure, sometimes the morning after had been a little awkward, but not for a long time, and he had taken the older males' word at face value that what happened under the moons stayed there. This was different though. This was really different. He couldn't quite put it to words, but he felt so...so _vulnerable_ right now, and he would rather no one was around to see it.

He heard his pack sister grumble and walk away then break into a jog to catch up with the Harbinger, and Farkas blew out a sigh of relief. Edric didn't seem to notice that they were alone, didn't do anything more than softly huff and whine and hold Farkas down.

The warrior shifted to get a small tussock of grass out of his ribs. Edric allowed it, though the wolf didn't let him up. That was fine. He reached up and sank his fingers into the ruff of his mate's neck fur and received a rumble of approval. "Edie," he murmured. The werewolf nuzzled him in response, and he resigned himself to lying there and enjoying what he could of it. He really wasn't attracted to this form at all, not when wasn't a wolf too. Edric was pretty, for a werewolf, but he was much more animal than human, and right now Farkas was human and just not into that. Well, there was one part of Edric that was still pretty human, but at least it was finally starting to lose interest and become less threatening.

The wolf let out a long groan and began twitching, and Farkas whispered in dismay, "Edie, get off!" He didn't want to feel Edric change on top of him. Gods, he didn't want that.

Edric only clutched him tighter, burying his face in Farkas' neck, and the Companion squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face into the grass in an effort to protect it. In the end it wasn't necessary, the wolf on top of him twisting and moaning in pain but not clawing, and the claws were the first thing that drew back in. But damn was Edric strong. Farkas could barely breathe with how tightly he was being held down, and the hand on his shoulder was clamped down so hard he knew he was going to have a bruise there. He could feel bones shifting and rearranging against him and fur retreating back into skin as the body on top of him shrank. He had changed hundreds of times, but feeling the change in someone else like this was horrible.

"Errghh, fuuuuck…" Edric's head dropped down to lay between Farkas' shoulderblades. He lay there catching his breath for some time before he panted, "Did I hurt you?"

It was a relief to hear that straight away. "Nah. I'm good."

Edric nodded then the grip on Farkas' shoulder released to slide under and hold him more gently. The Companion brought his hand up to hold his mate's, feeling happy and warm, though not as warm as he had been a few minutes ago. He was more than glad to let the smaller man lie there as long as he wanted, now that he actually was smaller. Edric's breathing slowed, and Farkas felt a gentle kiss between his shoulders.

Then he felt a tremor go through his lover as Edric turned his face into Farkas' back. The warrior's happiness turned to worry as he heard the younger man's breath hitch, and he was two seconds away from asking if Edric was okay before he heard a smothered laugh. He felt his mate's shoulders shake then the other man burst into laughter.

It was such a beautiful sound. He could count on one hand the number of times he had heard his lover laugh so freely.

"Ah shit. I just…I can't believe I did that to you. Talk about the boot being on the other foot."

"Huh?" Then Farkas' brain caught up and he chuckled. "Oh, right. That is pretty funny." Every time he had hunted recently he had pestered his mate for attention, and here Edric had pinned him down and dry humped him in front of other people. It was actually pretty damn funny now that it was over.

"You're sure I didn't hurt you."

"Yeah, I'm sure. Just a few scrapes and bruises, but you've probably got them too." He shifted a bit. "You were really damn big and heavy though. I couldn't even move."

Edric barked out a delighted guffaw. "Well, I've never been told _that_ before."

"Heh. Probably not." He rubbed his thumb along the smaller hand inside his own. "It was a good hunt. That buck probably had ten or twelve points."

"I want the rack."

"I'll get you the rack, honey. Tomorrow. We can clean it up and hang it in our room." There was another kiss between his shoulders.

"Mm. _Our_ room."

Farkas squeezed his hand, touched by the poignant tone to his mate's voice. "Yeah. _Our_ room." It had been their room for five days now. Their home. He sometimes missed having his brother close by, right across the hall, but Aela was a good neighbor and didn't fuss about their relationship and wouldn't care if she heard them going at it, not that they really had yet. And frankly Farkas didn't want that sort of thing anywhere near his brother, knowing his twin wanted Edric, but it would have been nice to at least be able to spend time with Vilkas and not have his partner be an issue, and he couldn't do that. Edric was always hanging in the air between them now. Until Vilkas pulled his head out of his ass, Farkas was just going to have to keep his distance somewhat.

He turned his head as much as he could and asked, "So how was it? Your first hunt. You did really good, you know. Didn't run around all crazy or try to take off. I did that the first five or six times."

It was quiet for a while, as if Edric was considering how to answer, or trying to figure out how he felt about things. "It was good," he said simply.

"Uh...okay."

"I'm still sorting things out."

"All right," he relented. His beloved did like to take his time thinking.

Edric chuckled and rubbed his nose against Farkas' back. "I liked rolling in the grass with you," he stated in a warm tone. "I know that much."

"Yeah?"

"Oh yeah." Edric let go of Farkas' hand and slid up his body to pull the hair from his neck then place a kiss on it. "I liked it a lot."

The murmur against the back of his neck sent goosebumps over Farkas' skin. "Me too," he whispered.

"Mm, I could tell." Edric kissed under Farkas' ear then gave it a little nibble.

 _Oh please_ , he silently begged. His mate began mouthing more firmly at his neck then let out a low, rumbling growl that went straight through his middle. He'd never heard Edric make that kind of sound before. A possessive sound. A growing hardness pressed against the swell of his rump, and he pushed back, wanting it. Gods how he wanted it.

"Farkas…" There was a questioning sound to his lover's voice, and a hand slid down to squeeze his backside. "Yeah?"

" _Yes_ ," he breathed. His arm flailed out to reach for their packs nearby.

Edric laughed at his eagerness, one he wasn't the least bit embarrassed of, in fact he was on the edge of desperate. Their living arrangements were nice, real nice, and he loved living with someone like that, especially that someone, and Edric had been accommodating, cuddling and kissing and stroking while Farkas saw to his own needs. It wasn't the same as actual lovemaking though, even if this kind of lovemaking was rare for them. He had only taken it the one time, that first day together by the hot springs, and he had only taken Edric twice. His lover was just a certain way about cleanliness, and honestly even at the best of times it was kind of a hassle when there were so many other ways to pleasure each other, but sometimes only this would do.

His back cooled as his mate moved down, and he had just found the vial when he felt a nip on his ass that made him yelp and nearly drop it. A hand slid up the inside of his thighs then gently pushed them apart. He prayed to Dibella that nothing went wrong, that the cravings didn't hit or Edric's desire didn't wane and end up ruining everything. It wasn't a prayer he was proud of. He knew his man couldn't help it, and it was still early yet in Edric's soberness, no...sobriety, that was the word. The cravings still hit frequently, sometimes unexpectedly. Farkas understood that as best he could and accepted it, but all he wanted was this night to finish on a high note without anything getting in the way. He wanted to enjoy this time alone with the man he loved, away from everyone, away from Jorrvaskr and its problems, away from his shield-siblings, away from his asshole brother, away from everyone but Edric.

There wasn't as much care taken this time to prepare, and that was more than all right with him. Sometimes it was good to just do it, quick and dirty. Farkas' beast always felt calm and gentle after a hunt, but it clearly wasn't working that way for Edric. That was more than fine with him, as good as it was, so good, being pounded into the grass under the moons, with the smell of soil and hay in his face and Edric's fingers digging into his hips so hard it was bound to leave bruises. It was perfect.

He didn't resist as he was turned onto his back, didn't have time to question how the hell they were going to manage before his legs were being pushed back. He was too big a man to be all that flexible, but it didn't seem to be a problem for Edric to compensate for it, as strong as he was. Farkas knew he was going to be sore tomorrow, no doubt about it, but it felt too good, the change in angle rubbing in all the right places, making him moan as he grabbed his lover's thighs to pull him closer, not that he could get any closer. He could feel the strength there and in the hands that so effortlessly held him up. It should have been strange, being taken this way by someone so much smaller than him, but it wasn't, and Edric looked so beautiful in the moonlight, pale and slender and lovely but looking like some wild thing, grass in his hair, body streaked with dirt and the blood of the hunt.

They lay catching their breath afterward, Edric's arm wrapped around his leg and his head pillowed on Farkas' inner thigh as he lazily trailed his finger through the cooling mess on the Companion's belly. "Good?" the Dragonborn murmured. There was uncertainty there now, tension in the other man's body.

"Hell yes," he replied, his voice lazy and full of satisfaction. He reached down to pet his mate's hair.

"Do you, um...need me to heal you?"

"Pfft. Nah." Farkas chuckled. "I'm telling you, it was good, sweetheart. Really good." It wasn't like he'd never had rough sex before, and this hadn't been _that_ rough. Sure, he was kind of tender, but it was just a nice reminder of his lover's enthusiasm, something that had been lacking for a while. Maybe this was another corner turned. Farkas hoped so.

At that Edric finally relaxed. "Ah. I'm glad, _miingi_." He kissed the furry thigh by his cheek then nuzzled it as he let out a contented sigh. "I wish it could always be like this."

"It'll be like this as much as we can make it." He rubbed Edric's head. "We still have that trip to take to Hjaalmarch. For Arcadia. We'll get lots of alone time together then."

"Right."

Farkas paused in his petting, not sure how to take that. The tone of his lover's voice was odd, but Edric was odd so often you just never knew if it was a good odd or bad odd.

"I have to say I'm not really looking forward to traipsing through a half-frozen marsh," Edric finished, glum.

Farkas grunted in agreement and continued petting, relieved. "Yeah, me neither." No matter how careful you were, you almost always ended up stepping in mud or brackish water and ruining your boots. The ground could look plenty solid and you'd still end up sinking in at some point. At least at this time of year there wouldn't be mosquitoes.

"We should go right after you get back. I think the deathbells and nightshade are done blooming, and the dartwings are gone for the year, but this is a good time for giant lichen and fungal pods, before they set spores. Nirnroot should be around, too. Too much later though and there won't be much left to gather, with winter setting in."

The warrior snorted. "You sure you don't know anything about alchemy?"

"Oh no, I know plenty about the ingredients and all that, how to gather them properly, what the properties are of things, what combination makes what potion. I just don't have the patience to go through the hassle of actually processing them. I never had any interest in it. I tried, back when I was still in the Legion. Read the books, took the classes." He shrugged. "It's not for me." He lightly ran his finger along the soft skin at the crease of Farkas' leg and groin. "Can't be good at _everything_ , you know," he murmured in a coy tone.

Farkas laughed, "Can't have that." He grabbed Edric's wrist and gave it a gentle tug, urging him to come up so they could cuddle side by side. He worried for a moment that his mate wouldn't do it, messy as they both were, but then it was surprising that Edric had tolerated lying here as long as he had. Really surprising. Each time they had done this his beloved had hopped up and washed right away.

Edric hesitated then gave in, crawling up Farkas' body to hover over him before the bigger man pulled him down against him. He squealed in disgust but allowed it. "Ah, gods, we're fucking _filthy_ ," he complained, though there was a note of amusement there as well.

Farkas grinned. "Yeah we are." He could feel from the way Edric held himself that this wasn't totally pleasant for him. He was allowing it though, which was something. "We'll wash in a minute. It's getting cold anyway."

"Yeah, okay," he muttered, then laid his head on Farkas' chest. He nuzzled the thick patch of black hair. "You'll be careful, right? At Gallows Rock."

Well that question had come out of nowhere. "Of course, honey," Farkas soothed. "Real careful. I know this isn't a regular job. And I won't let Skjor hare off on his own. I promise." He remembered what Edric had said to the Harbinger a few weeks ago, the day his leg had gotten hurt during that sparring match with Vilkas: _You do realize this business will be the death of you_. And Skjor had said that Kodlak had already laid into him about it, maybe getting that special Whitemane feeling about something going terribly wrong, the gift of which the old man had had much more than his son. Both Kodlak and Edric had known that if Skjor kept going after the Silver Hand on his own he would die.

Well if Farkas had anything to say about it, the Silver Hand wasn't going to get to the Harbinger. Skjor was all that was best about the Companions: honorable, a great warrior, a loyal shield-brother, a loyal packmate. He was Farkas and Vilkas' forebear and had been their main mentor since they were teens, other than Kodlak. The thought of Skjor getting killed was way worse than Kodlak dying. The old man had died of something no one could prevent, but Skjor's death would come by violence.

And maybe there was no stopping that. Maybe they were only putting it off a bit longer. Edric had been pretty sure that the Silver Hand would get to Skjor sooner or later. Later, then. They would take later.

* * *

 

This incredibly gorgeous piece of art was commissioned from Slugette on Tumblr. Words can't express how happy I am with how this turned out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next were originally one but at 15k+ words it seemed a bit lengthy and I'd really like to avoid doing that from now on.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of the previous chapter...

**Farkas**

Waking up alone wasn't something Farkas was used to anymore.

He rubbed his face and laid there for a moment, getting his bearings. It wasn't raining, and it was plenty light out, and Edric's side of the bedroll was still somewhat warm. Maybe he was just up taking a leak. It would have been nice to wake up to his sweet face, though. With their room in Jorrvaskr underground, it was always dark down there unless candles or lamps were lit, so they always woke up in the dark and Farkas couldn't lay there and just...stare. Watch his man sleep.

Well, that was what naps were for. They had gotten to sleep late last night, or maybe it was early morning, after going down to the river and washing, and fuck it had been cold, but it had been worth it to see Edric relax about it and be able to go to bed clean. His man had sent up the fireball Aela wanted then he'd even heated up the inside of the bedroll. The cuddling had been nice too, and they'd been plenty warm even though the night was chilly. Farkas was sure that later on in the day his lover would be more than happy to snuggle up again and take a nap.

He sat up with a grunt and was startled to see his mate sitting in the opening of the tent, staring out at Whiterun in the distance. His knees were drawn up and he had his arms wrapped around them, and he had on what appeared to be Farkas' shirt. He did seem to like wearing those big shirts when they were alone together.

"How long have you been up?" the Companion asked.

"Hour or so."

Farkas moved close, pulling the bedroll around his waist then wrapping the extra blanket around his shoulders. He pulled Edric back a bit to sit in his lap and put his arms around him. "Warm?"

"Yeah, this is good." Edric twisted his head to kiss the underside of Farkas jaw then rubbed his head along it. "Love you," he purred.

"I love you too."

Edric rubbed Farkas' thighs on either side of him and asked, "How long do you think this will take?"

"What, the Gallows Rock job?"

"No. Us. Bonding."

The warrior grunted. "Hell if I know. There's no way to know. I don't think Aela does either. But… sometimes lately, the last few days, I feel...I dunno. Different. Good different." He still didn't know how to put it. He felt stronger. More...put together. It wasn't adequate for what he felt, and he didn't have the words for it, but it was there, and it felt like _more_ this morning, just a little bit more.

A little tremble went through the smaller man and he turned enough to put his face into Farkas' neck. "Ah _miingi_ , me too," he whispered. "I thought I was imagining it." Farkas held him more tightly, and Edric clung to him as they looked out over the plains towards the city beyond. "I want it there. Something solid that's always there. Before you I felt like… like a worn out old piece of leather armor that had been patched up too many times and was ready to come apart at the seams. Or maybe one of those brittle old weapons you find in crypts that look like they'll shatter if you hit wrong with it."

"Edie," Farkas breathed in dismay. Sure, maybe at some bone-deep level he had known it, that Edric was emotionally on his last legs at first. He had sure as hell known it after that first hunt, when his intended had admitted he didn't plan to live past the war with the elves. Hearing it put like this was hard though.

As if he hadn't heard him, the Dragonborn went on, "But then you came and you just...helped me find reasons to hang on a little longer, to give myself a chance to care about...about anything. And then I loved you, and even then sometimes it felt like…" He tensed up. "I found a jar once, in a shed south of Ivarstead. An alchemist's shack. The jar had a butterfly in it. There was magic involved, I'm sure, but the butterfly was fluttering inside the jar, just flapping away in there, up and down, up and down, and gods knew how long it had been trapped there. I let it out and it flew away. I could do that much for it."

The Companion made a noise in the back of his throat, past the lump that was stuck there. He wasn't a smart guy, but he got the idea. He wasn't sure what it had to do with loving Farkas though.

"I know how I am," Edric muttered. "I know what I am, and the older I get the more _me_ I get, you know?"

"Yeah." He was quite a bit older than his lover, and he knew that quite well, and even then it had only been recently, since Edric came, that he had felt able to completely be himself. He still wasn't sure where Edric was going with all this though.

"When I was a kid it wasn't so bad. I sang and drank and fought and fucked around and I loved it. I didn't get much privacy or time alone, but enough to get along just fine. It wasn't until I got sent back to Skyrim that things really started to bother me. Made me start questioning. Made me really think. About who I was, the kind of man I wanted to be. Where I wanted my life to go. And then there was Helgen, and Ralof, and Ulfric, and the cause, and I was finally part of something that meant something to me. I took that first dragon soul and felt it change me, and every one after that...and still I was fine with it. I was doing something that mattered, something that would change the world, and if it changed me a bit, well, I needed that. Skjor was right when he said I was a little shit. I was a smart-mouthed, cocky bastard. I was good, damn good, and I knew it. I was beautiful and I knew it. Being Dragonborn, having so much riding on me all the time, made me grow up. But even then, all the way up to Sovngarde, I felt like I was untouchable. Like nothing could keep me down."

Farkas simply nodded, staying silent. There was something going on here, and maybe the point of all this was escaping him, but maybe there wasn't a point to it. Edric had something he was trying to get out, and it had to be done in his own way.

"It was stupid to maintain that level of arrogance. There is no one in this world I can get angrier with than myself," Edric stated. His body was just about vibrating with tension now. "As furious as I was with Ulfric for lying to me about Ralof, I was just as angry with myself for believing him to begin with. As angry as I was about Ralof not loving me the way I wanted, I was even more angry with myself for going after a straight guy in the-"

"Shit honey, he wasn't straight. Not totally." Farkas had to finally say something. Edric shook his head and blew out a breath of frustration, and Farkas insisted, "That he wanted you at all meant something. He would've gotten used to it in time, but you didn't have enough time together. He didn't get the chance to work up to all the stuff we do without thinking. If he'd lived and you moved to Windhelm and lived together all the time, he would've gotten there eventually."

"You really believe that." Edric's tone implied he didn't himself.

"Yeah, I do, and you need to stop getting so mad at yourself. Stop torturing yourself about everything." He wondered if he'd made a mistake when his mate growled and slid out of his arms. He didn't go after him, just let him stand up and shake himself all over, his hands flexing. The shirt pulled up and his pert little ass peeked out, but Farkas knew better than to do more than glance. This was serious business right now, though it still escaped him just what in Oblivion Edric was trying to say. Gods only knew what the other man had been stewing about before Farkas woke.

Edric laced his fingers behind his neck and groaned, "I want to believe you."

Farkas shrugged. "Okay, believe me then. Ralof loved you, his own sister said that he said so, and yeah, maybe it was kind of cowardly of him not to tell you, and maybe it was upsetting not to be made love to the way you wanted, but I'm thinking maybe you never said anything to him about it, and you're mad at yourself for that too. I think you've been beating the shit out of yourself ever since Sovngarde, and I'm hoping that it'll get better, either with time or the bond or maybe both, but if it doesn't I'll still love you either way."

His mate looked up at the sky and let out a quiet yell of frustration, but he didn't deny any of it. It was going to take time for Edric to sort through all his thoughts and feelings, after all the shit he had been through. He had never just let himself sit and think things out for any length of time. He'd never stayed put in one place long enough to do so. High Hrothgar didn't count. Edric didn't talk much about that time of his life, and Farkas understood why, because of Kyne's Mysteries or Greybeard Secrets or whatever, but Farkas knew Edric had been crippled and in constant pain during that time, and then he had gone back to fighting vampires and dragons and sorting out the mess on Solstheim. Being here in Jorrvaskr was the most settled Edric had been the entire thirty years of his life. Of course that was going to cause some things to float up to the top and have to be dealt with. There was still a lot of shit going on, with Kodlak dying and the Silver Hand around, and the crap with Vilkas and Torvar, but still, Edric was mostly staying put and had a lot of free time on his hands with little else to do but think.

Edric's arms dropped to his sides and he grasped the neck of the shirt, and when he turned around it was the amulet of Kynareth he was holding. His silver eyes were wide and watery, and the free hand was trembling then clenched into a fist to still it. "I don't know who you love, or why. I don't even know who I am," he said in a quavering voice. "My whole life, I've always known who I was and what I had to do. When I was little I knew when Mummy said to hide, I had to hide, when it was time to leave, we had to leave. I knew I was small and I had to find someone to teach me to fight. I knew I needed to know my numbers and letters and found people to teach me that. I knew I had to take care of Mummy, I knew the most dependable way to do that was the Legion. I knew I was good at fighting and magic, I knew I would never face any real consequences for my smart mouth, and even on the block at Helgen I still knew I would get out of it somehow, and I did. I knew when I took that dragon soul at the Western Watchtower that it was my destiny, that I had been meant for it, I mean, of course I was, because who else could possibly be Dragonborn but me! I knew I'd win the war for Ulfric, I knew I'd win the throne for him. I even knew I would defeat Alduin, because why wouldn't I!"

Farkas softly clucked his tongue and shook his head, holding his mate's gaze. He didn't understand how one person could be so hard on themselves, after all the good they had done. He didn't know what to say right now to help his beloved, other than reassure him that everything would settle in time and that he was loved.

Edric's tight shoulders fell as he saw the calm, steady devotion there. "I don't know who the fuck I am anymore, Farkas," he whimpered. "I look in the mirror and I don't know who I'm looking at."

At that the Companion immediately left the tent and climbed to his feet, the blanket around him. Edric let out a wolfish whine and hurried to him to hold him tight and bury his face in the other man's chest. Farkas wrapped the blanket around them both and soothed, "It's all right, Edie. It'll be all right."

The younger man nodded in response. Farkas knew everything would be all right, even if he still wasn't sure what his man was upset about. He remembered someone, Vilkas maybe, telling him that Edric probably didn't know who he was without liquor in his system, and maybe that was part of it, but not all of it.

"I just…" Edric began then trailed off. "It's all happening too fast. Getting sober like that and taking the beastblood. And Kynareth, Kyne, she isn't listening to me anymore, I've prayed and prayed and I no longer feel her grace, and I feared as much, but... I can't get my bearings, and then this thing between us… I'm scared of it as much as I want it."

"My poor baby," he grumbled. Well that all made sense then, sort of, all taken together. Edric was afraid. He had been confident most of his life about who he was and what he needed to do to get what he wanted, or to get things done, and he didn't feel like he had that anymore. The growing pairbond was another source of stress and change as much as it was a potential source of comfort. Although it hurt to say it, Farkas offered, "We could slow down, if you want. I would do that, if you wanted."

Edric shook his head. "No."

"I don't want to do something that scares you. Especially if it has to do with me." He was already self-conscious to some degree as it was, knowing that he was big and dark and kind of scary looking at times, and the thought of adding to that by taking part in something his mate was afraid of was unbearable.

"No," Edric repeated. "You're the only good part of all this." He leaned back enough to put his hands on the bigger man's chest, rubbing his thumbs across the dark hair. He kept his eyes there, his lips pursed for a moment before he said in a halting voice, "The butterfly in the jar…"

"Yeah, it's you. I get it." He wasn't _that_ stupid.

"Do you get why?"

Farkas rolled his eyes. "I don't know, you feel trapped?" That was something he hadn't wanted at all, his man feeling like he didn't have any choices.

" _No_. No no no. Maybe…" He rubbed his forehead. "Maybe it wasn't the best metaphor. Example, I mean." He made a fist and gently tapped the side of it on Farkas' chest. "My entire life I've been self-sufficient. No, more...self-contained, rather. Even since we've been together, as happy as you make me, I've always been all wrapped up in here." He bumped his fist against his forehead. "Bottled up in here. It's always been like that. I see everything going on around me, and I take part in it, and I meet people and sometimes they interest me enough to make me feel something, like or lust or anger or whatever, but still…" He finally looked up at Farkas. "This bond, as much as I want it, I won't be able to shut it out. And I don't want to, believe me, but I've only ever really had me. I've only ever fully relied on myself. I've only ever had myself, and...and since Ray died I've been fractured. Splintered. But this thing that's happening to us…it's making you flow into all the cracks."

He stared down at the other man, seeing the plea there, the need to be understood, if only by his mate. And Farkas did understand him. He couldn't always put it into words, even in his own head, but he got it. He got Edric. Maybe sometimes his mate lost him for a bit, but Farkas always caught up eventually.

"C'mere," he whispered, taking the back of Edric's head and pulling him to his chest then wrapping the blanket tightly around them. "You and me, Edie," he said in a rough voice. He didn't know what else to say. He didn't know how else to put it. He was too close to tears right now, now that his man's words had all come together and started to make sense.

Edric's hands slid up his back. "I _do_ want this."

"I know. Just getting there is hard. I understand."

"I know you do." He kissed Farkas' chest. "You have no idea how much I treasure that, _miingi_." He sighed and laid his head down. "I woke up this morning and I could feel it. That small difference. And I wanted a drink so fucking bad right then, too. I couldn't handle it."

"Hey, it's okay. It's going to keep happening for a while. It's normal. And you did handle it. You handled it just fine." Farkas hated hearing the shame in his lover's voice, a shame he shouldn't have.

"And then I prayed, and I felt nothing. Kynareth turned away from me. Praying always gave me some amount of peace and now it's gone."

"Yeah, I'm sure that didn't help." Edric always said his morning prayers when he was able, outdoors, rain or shine, and here they were with the Throat of the World looming over them and the Dragonborn felt like his prayers were going nowhere. Farkas didn't understand what it was that Edric felt when he prayed, but to have that comfort taken away along with all the other troubles lately was cruel and unfair. It explained though why he had been so closed off and irritable last night, after coming back from the temple.

"It isn't fair," Edric said through gritted teeth, echoing his mate's thoughts.

"I agree."

"I was thinking this morning, maybe I should go up to High Hrothgar. Maybe the goddess would hear me more clearly up there. Something. Anything. But I'm scared that the Greybeards would take one look at me and shut the door in my face."

Farkas grumbled. "Yeah. Maybe."

"Then I thought, well maybe I could fly a dragon up there. I hate flying, but I could do that, get up to the peak and just...shout at Kyne until she hears me. But the Greybeards' leader, he lives up there, at the peak. I'm not sure what he would do if I came in like that. He might see it as a threat."

"Well what did he do when the dragons were up there before?" Both times. Everyone had seen and heard the dragon battle a couple years ago, when Alduin had shown up there, something Edric refused to talk much about, and they had all seen and heard the dragons flying around the peak when the Dragonborn had returned from Sovngarde. That was a day that still upset Farkas to no end. When Edric didn't answer Farkas said, "He isn't going to try to kill you. You're the Dragonborn. Even if the Greybeards hated you, they've gotta understand that there's still dragons around and you're the only one who can kill them."

Edric laughed softly. "Oh, no. Anyone can kill a dragon if they're skilled enough. Vilkas was holding his own pretty well that one time, considering he'd never faced one before. They're just like any other big beast, you just have to know where to hit them and how they're likely to move and attack." He lifted his head and grinned up at the taller man, tapping his balled up fists on Farkas' chest, his silver eyes bright with sudden excitement. "You know what? We could hunt down a dragon. I could show you how it's done. I would even take Vilkas, if I knew he would behave, but we both know he won't, so… But we could do it, you and me."

"You and me, yeah," Farkas breathed, nodding, his eyes wide and eager. He'd wanted to hunt a dragon ever since Vilkas and Njada had come back from that mission for the Dawnguard, loaded down with bones and scales. Gods, how great would that be? And Edric was so happy right now. The shift in mood was sudden, but it was in a good direction, and it wasn't unsettling or dangerous like Vilkas' mood swings.

"Maybe take the juniors, too. And Aela, if she wants." His happiness dimmed a bit as he added, "I'm leaving next year with no idea how long I'll be gone. Someone has to be able to hunt dragons while I'm away, and who better than the Companions? You guys did a good job with the vampires."

The warrior let out a laugh of anticipation. "Yeah. Let's do it."

"Excellent." He leaned up on the balls of his feet to kiss Farkas then moved out of his arms towards the tent. "Come look at my map."

"Yeah, just let me take a leak first."

The map. Well this was pretty exciting. He'd been curious about the map last night and had intended to ask about it at some point today. Hunting dragons though! He hadn't really imagined he would ever get the chance to do that.

Farkas noted though that of all the Companions Edric had mentioned when it came to dragon hunting, only one had been left out. It was unsettling, having Skjor left out. As if Edric was certain the Harbinger wouldn't live long enough to ask along.

He shook off the uneasiness and went back into the tent to see Edric sitting in the bedroll taking a weathered map from a leather scroll case. He couldn't read many of the words, and a lot of them were in what he assumed was the dragon language, but he knew the landmarks and where every city and town of note was. In addition to those though, there were tiny dragon heads, tiny mammoth heads, caves and towers, all kinds of symbols and notations added in. "Wow," Farkas murmured as he slid close, bracing his arm behind his mate's back. "You've been to all these places?"

"Most of them, yes," Edric said with a nod. He rolled the map backwards to flatten it then spread it over their laps. He smoothed it out with his hand, his brow furrowed slightly. "I noticed you watching me last night, while I was studying the map."

"Yeah. Figured you'd tell me about it sooner or later."

"Hm." Edric's lips pursed then twisted as he stared at the map with a thoughtful frown. "I have something I need to, well, no, would _like_ to do, before I leave. I've been trying to wrap my head around the logistics of it." He trailed his finger along the map, weaving through each hold. "I have houses in Windhelm, Riften, and Markarth. And I've got the caches all over, like the one I took you to here close to the city."

"Uh huh." It had been in a large locked chest hidden up in the rocks on the mountainside above the farms on the south side of the city. Inside had been the suit of ebony plate mail, the dragon hunting sword, and sacks full of gold, gems and jewelry, and then underneath that had been dragon remains. His eyes had just about come out of his head at the wealth gathered in just this one place, and this had supposedly been a _small_ cache, and not the only one in Whiterun hold either; Edric had said he'd moved the armor and sword here when he had first come to Whiterun, the day before he had encountered Farkas on the plains.

"I had planned to move most of it to Windhelm, before." Before. Before Ralof had died, before Sovngarde and Alduin had nearly killed the Dragonborn. "It makes me uneasy leaving it behind unsecured. The caches, I mean. I went to a hell of a lot of work to accumulate all that, and I'm not leaving it for some bandit to stumble across. I'm trying to figure out a way to consolidate all of in just a few places." Edric shook his head and clucked his tongue in frustration. "There's just so damn much of it, is the problem. It would take me weeks on horseback to move it all, with a packhorse in addition to Arvak."

"Right." Arvak. He remembered Vilkas describing the terrifying skeletal horse the Dragonborn conjured outside Rorikstead. Farkas had asked his lover about it once. Once was enough.

"The caches are here. Here, here…" He tapped the map on at least a dozen locations, each marked with just a simple X. He trailed his finger between them, connecting the locations, as he said, "I'm trying to work out the most efficient way to gather everything in a sweep."

"Sweep."

"On dragon-back." Edric's nose wrinkled. "I really don't like the thought of it. I like my feet firmly on the ground. But some dragons owe me some favors, and barring that I'll force compliance out of them. _Zu'u los niist thur_."

Farkas simply nodded. He wasn't sure what that last part meant and supposed it didn't really matter. It was kind of surprising to hear the dragon tongue, though. Edric had barely spoken any since taking the beastblood. It made Farkas wonder if the wolf really had overpowered the dragon to some degree. At times since then he wondered how on Nirn it even had. It made him wonder if Hircine really had intervened that night.

Edric went on, "I wonder if any of the juniors would want to go up with me."

He grimaced. "Eh, I don't know. That's asking a hell of a lot." Farkas wouldn't do it. He loved his mate more than anything, would give his life for him in a heartbeat if needed, but a man had his limits.

The Dragonborn smirked at his lover. "Maybe I'll just throw it out there and see what happens." Farkas shrugged. Edric turned back to the map, scratching his ribs as he studied it. "Might have to do a handful of these at a time. Break it up into three trips or something. I want to keep most of the loot in Vlindrel Hall, in Markarth. Good solid stone house with unpickable locks. Not even a dragon could break in."

"Yeah."

"I bought Breezehome."

Farkas sat up straight, bewildered. "You what?"

"I may have made a rather large purchase yesterday, while I was up at Dragonsreach. Before you came to dinner. I didn't have the money at the time, but Brill knows I'm good for it. I'll fetch it in the morning and get the house paid for."

Farkas didn't know what to say at first. Edric wasn't looking at him, but he seemed calm and wasn't giving off any of those little signs that he was anxious. And why would he be? It was Edric's business what he spent his money on. It was his money, and there was a lot of it, more than any one person could spend, if what Farkas had seen of it was any indication. If he wanted to buy a house, he could buy a house. But why now?

His mate slowly ran his finger between several points on the map and went on in a distracted tone, "I'm having it furnished, not sure how long that will take. I don't expect us to live there until after I get back from down south, but in the meantime it will be someplace I can store things. Vignar also reminded me that a Thane is expected to own property in his territory. Now I do." He stared at the map a moment longer then huffed and shook his head. "Anyway, I haven't seen the inside of the place. Never bothered. Lydia had a lot of choice words about that, let me tell you."

"I bet," Farkas mumbled. Lydia had never been a woman to mince words, that was for sure.

"But the dragons." He tapped a number of points with dragon heads drawn in. "All of these spots held dragons, guarding word walls. They're drawn to them. Some of them I've gone back to a couple times, and there's usually a new dragon there. They've behaved themselves pretty well lately, I've got to hand it to them, but it won't last. It never does. It's in their nature to hunt and destroy, and most don't have the willpower or the brains to stay out of trouble. A few, but very few. Those I'll let live, but we'll get called to deal with a dragon soon, just you watch."

"I hope so."

Edric rolled up the map then slid it back into the small leather case that held it. "You okay with this?" he asked, his voice soft as he put the case into his pack. "The house, I mean."

"Yeah. Just surprised." Really, that was all it was. He could get used to anything, he was sure of it, but sometimes he got caught off-guard. He rubbed the smaller man's shoulders. "It'll be good, having a place in town for your things. Some of your things." Edric nodded, and one big hand moved up to massage his neck under his pretty brown and white hair, making him hum in pleasure. A house of their own. The thought was really nice. Not every Companion wanted to keep fighting until they grew old and a job finally took them down. Plenty of Companions retired, taking a training role instead or leaving the hall entirely.

Once he and Edric married, after his man came back from war, and once kids entered the picture, Farkas wanted to retire. He had a lot of money saved up, and...well, it wasn't like he needed it, with as wealthy as Edric was. By the Nine, that was a thought. It hadn't really come to him in quite this way before now.

Edric closed his eyes, leaning back into Farkas' hand. "What's on your mind, love?" he asked. "You're being awfully quiet."

"Just thinking about having a rich, pretty husband." Edric let out a cackle of surprise that turned into delighted snorts, sounds that were totally undignified and cute as hell. His mate beamed and it was the most beautiful thing in the world. It was beautiful seeing him so happy, after what had been kind of a rough start to their morning. He petted Edric's hair back and asked, "Hungry for breakfast yet?"

"No, not quite yet."

"Good." He pushed gently on the other man's chest and quickly lowered him down with a hand behind his head, making him laugh again before his lips twisted into an impish smirk. His eyes were so bright, gleaming, and the Companion shoved away the unwelcome thought of how six months ago the right one hadn't been there. By Mara, that thought hurt too much to bear. Farkas straddled Edric's legs and leaned down to kiss him, just a brush of the lips, then he braced himself on one hand and placed the other over the scars, stroking his thumb over the more defined one across his nose. The Dragonborn's expression grew serious, a little troubled even. "You aren't pretty," Farkas stated. "I was just joking."

He snorted a tired laugh and replied, "You're the only one I'll take that from, _miingi_. I don't mind." He took Farkas' hand and turned it to kiss his palm, then he cradled it to his chest. He stared up at the bigger man, seeming like he was struggling with something. "Farkas," he began after a few moments.

"Yeah? I love you, you know."

He clucked his tongue and reached up to take Farkas' face in his hands. "Ah, sweetheart, I do. I do know." He grimaced. "You're so good to me," he whispered. "So patient. I don't… You've done so much for me. Put up with so much."

"No one's keeping score." He slid to the side to get more comfortable, sitting up on his elbow. "You saved my life. You made Kodlak happy. You've put up with more shit from my brother than you should've ever needed to. You ask me what I think, and you listen to what I say. You've done a lot for me." He laid his finger in the slight cleft in his mate's chin and muttered, "Being with you, it makes me…" His lips pursed as he struggled with the words. "I just feel...stronger, like knowing I can stand up for myself more. And, well, smarter, I guess." Of course Edric had never made him feel dumb and had always chided him for thinking he was, but the feelings lingered when his man wasn't around. Confidence, maybe. That's what it was. He felt more confident these days.

Edric sighed, "Oh love, it isn't me doing it."

Farkas didn't agree but wasn't going to argue that point. "Well, anyways, you do a lot for me."

"All right," his mate relented. He grimaced again and made a little huffing sound, his expression scrunching up tight. "But Farkas," he began again. "My face…"

"What about it?" the Companion asked in confusion.

"Do you ever wish that I was…" Edric trailed off and covered his face with his hands. "Of course you don't," he whispered harshly. "Idiot."

Farkas sighed and waited. That was really all you could do, and he knew the insult wasn't aimed at him. He supposed at this point he just had to resign himself to just nodding and accepting whatever revelations his lover tossed his way on a frequent basis. It was a process, he knew that, one that could take years, and the war was going to take Edric away before he could get his lover good and settled. It was going to take time to untangle someone who had spent years tying himself in knots.

"I wasn't ever going to tell you this," he groaned from beneath his hands, "but I want to. I told Vilkas that day in the cave, when I was in the cage, just to needle him, and I wasn't thinking all that clearly but I said it, and I want to tell you before he does." Farkas grunted in assent. Edric's whole body tensed and a shiver went through him. "My face. The scars on my face." He took his left hand away, using his right to cover his cheek. "My face was the first thing she fixed. The face sculptor."

"Yeah, you told me. She started with the eye. I remember. You had nothing to lose by it."

"Yes, but...I was still taking the healing fine at that point. She could have fixed my entire face. Made it perfect again. I told her to leave some of the scars." Farkas didn't react, and Edric opened his eyes and stated in a quavering voice, "I left myself like this on purpose, Farkas. I told her to do it."

That...that hadn't been what Farkas expected at _all_ , and for a moment he grieved it. Edric could have left himself unmarked and instead had chosen to stay somewhat disfigured. He was already breathtaking as it was, when you saw just the left side of his face, then he turned, and Farkas had seen people react to it. They reacted to it worse than they would to an average person who was scarred, almost like they were disappointed or something, that this thing they found so beautiful had a defect. Like Edric was a thing for their viewing pleasure, like a tapestry or one of those fancy glazed Altmer vases. A decoration. An ornament. But that was their problem, not Edric's. He had only ever known Edric this way, and he loved him just as he was.

And knowing his man the way he did, it wasn't so hard to figure out why he had done it. It was a mask just as much as the magical ones he used to wear, or the helmets. The scar combined with one of his cold stares was enough to keep all but the most determined away. There was probably more to it than that, Farkas was sure of it. Not much was simple when it came to Edric or his motivations.

"Okay," he finally said. "It's your face, honey." Edric's eyelids fluttered and he just about went limp with relief. Farkas clucked his tongue and rubbed under his beloved's chin. "You don't have to do this to yourself," he chided, his tone gentle. "You want to buy Breezehome, you buy it. You wanted to leave your face like this, fine, it's your face. Neither of those things have anything to do with me. You don't have to justify yourself to me."

"I just wanted you to know. Vilkas thinks he understands why I did it, but of course he didn't just ask why. He doesn't understand jack shit about me."

"So was it to keep people away?" Edric's gaze shifted away, and Farkas sighed and laid down at his man's side, pillowing his head on his arm. He rubbed his knuckles along the scars. "You never told me how she did it. The face sculptor, I mean."

"You really want to know?"

"Yeah, I do."

Edric made a sound of apprehension. He shivered and pulled up the bedroll and blankets around them. "It was horrible," he whispered. "It felt like being tortured." Farkas put his arm over Edric's waist to hold him, and the Dragonborn clutched at it. "She wasn't only a healer. She was also a chirurgeon. She'd studied in Cloudrest, with the Altmer, at a chirurgeon's college."

Farkas felt the bile rise in his throat. He knew what a chirurgeon was: a healer who worked by cutting people open then stitching them up again. They didn't have very good ones here in Skyrim, though Danica wasn't too bad; her focus was more on magic and herbs, though even with just those two things she could just about work miracles. She could dig out an arrowhead or a blade that had broken off, but that was about as far as it went with surgery. That part about people hearing the screams under Riften last summer made a sudden, sickening sense. The face sculptor had probably cut away the damaged tissue then regrew it with some kind of healing spell. She'd sliced Edric's ruined face away, starting with that empty, scarred-over eye socket, and built him a new one.

"I take it back," Farkas groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and leaning his forehead on his mate's shoulder. "I don't want to know any more, I'm sorry. I get it and...I can't." By Mara, he felt ill, knowing Edric had willingly put himself through that. He didn't know how anyone could tolerate that. How anyone could be that stubborn, or that strong.

Edric clucked his tongue and reached up to sink his fingers into Farkas' hair. The Companion stayed there, letting his lover soothe him, but it was hard to feel soothed.

"You're not wrong. About why I kept some of the scars."

Farkas grunted. He was done talking about this. He could hear Edric's screams echoing in his head.

Edric massaged the bigger man's scalp and went on, "I didn't expect to live all that long, when I had her do it, but even if I had planned on sticking around I still would have done it. Yeah, I wanted to keep people away. I wasn't going to tell anyone I was Dragonborn until it was time to go back to Windhelm, but until then I wanted everyone to stay the fuck away from me. I already had people propositioning me or asking me to marry them as it was, even though they'd never seen my face, even though they were terrified of me. Can you imagine that? They didn't know me. They knew what I was, not who I was." He made an irritated sound of derision. "Now imagine going around looking the way I did before, before I left the Legion, with my hair like this and a perfect face. I couldn't go anywhere without getting stared at. They're still going to stare, but now when they do it, it will be because they know that whatever it was that fucked up my face is dead and I'm not. Now that they all know I'm Dragonborn, they'll look at me and _really_ know. They'll fucking respect me. They'll _fear_ me. And they damn well should."

Thunder began creeping into his mate's voice. Farkas tried not to shiver but couldn't totally keep it from happening. It wasn't that he was afraid. He could never be afraid of Edric. But it was something akin to fear, something like dread, that sense that you were peeking into a dark cave and something monstrous was lurking just inside, staring back out, something you never got more than hints of, but those hints were enough.

 _You have given sanctuary to a creature that has the blood of monsters in its veins_. Balgruuf had said that, at Kodlak's funeral. Farkas had been offended, but the former Jarl hadn't been entirely wrong. And now Edric was a werewolf on top of being dragon-blooded and dragon-souled.

But then Farkas was a werewolf too, so that made him a monster as well. They were both monsters.

"Are you cold, _miingi?_ " Edric asked, his voice kind and the thu'um gone. He pulled the blankets in close and turned sideways to twine their legs together, then he placed a tender, lingering kiss on Farkas' forehead as he petted dark hair back. "Ah, Farkas," he whispered. "Sweet Farkas."

The Companion relaxed into the gentle touches and kisses. When Edric tilted his chin up he opened his eyes, and there was only affection looking back at him out of silver eyes. Eyes just like his own. Maybe Edric was a little bit of a monster, but so was Farkas, and that didn't make them bad people, just different. And even if they were different from everyone else, they were the same, and together. They would always be together, even when they were far apart, even after death.

Once the bond was in place, it would feel like they were together all the time, and maybe that wouldn't always be a comfortable thing, for either of them, but that didn't make it bad. Sometimes being uncomfortable was good, if it was for a cause. Right now Farkas' cause was Edric, getting him stable and healthy, giving him what he needed so he'd be okay when he left with Ulfric's army. The best way to do that was by helping the bond along, and he knew a really good way to do that.

Edric lightly scratched his fingers along Farkas' beard, asking, "You hungry yet?"

"Sure am," he growled, rolling his mate onto his back and moving over him. "For you." Edric sputtered then began to snicker. Well maybe in hindsight that had been kind of a stupid thing to say, but he supposed there wasn't any taking it back.

Edric grabbed his face and murmured with a grin, "Ah, come on, _miingi_ , you know I love it when you say shit like that. Makes me all warm and gooey inside. Like a fresh-baked sweetroll."

Farkas chuckled and leaned down to kiss along a soft, velvety neck. "I do really like sweetrolls. Especially this little sweetroll." He nuzzled then kissed the shiny pink scars on his lover's cheek. He didn't care why they were there. It in the end, the why didn't matter, and they were a part of Edric either way. That they were there by choice made that even more true.

Edric brought a leg up and put it around Farkas' waist, and when the bigger man shifted he brought up the other. Farkas touched his lips to Edric's and the Dragonborn kissed him back, feather light, and when he pulled away Edric rubbed his thumbs along Farkas' cheekbones. "I love the things you say to me," he whispered. "I love _you_. Everything about you."

Choked up, Farkas mumbled, "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Edric pulled him down for a deeper kiss and the Companion rumbled happily, feeling his mate's response between them match his own. Edric grabbed the oil and Farkas soon felt a warm, slick hand grabbing them both, then they began to move together. It was a beautiful way to spend a morning, and after this they would clean up and eat some breakfast, then go get the antlers his mate wanted as a trophy, then maybe nap and eat again, maybe even fool around again if they were both up to it. He would do whatever Edric wanted today, just as long as it made his beloved as happy as Farkas was right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dovahzul translation (legacy translator)  
> Zu'u los niist thur - I am their overlord/master


	35. Chapter 35

**Vilkas**

Leather creaked as Vilkas gripped the reins hard, and he had to force his jaw to unclench before he ended up cracking teeth. Here it was late afternoon, still light out but the sun beginning to dip down to the west, and the two lovebirds were still cozied up in their nest, sleeping the day away.

Skjor glanced sideways and warned, "Don't start."

He ignored his forebear, too angry about the indolence he was witnessing to care. Farkas knew the rest of the Circle was coming for him. He and Edric both knew. That they were both still sleeping when Farkas had a job to do, and Edric had Jorrvaskr to run, was unacceptable.

He pulled his mount to a stop, threw the reins to the Harbinger then slid off the horse, landing hard on the ground with enough noise to wake the dead, let alone two sleeping werewolves. He strode over to the tent, hearing nothing from within, thank Dibella. A fire was burning low in front of it, and off to the side of the fire was a deer skull, a fresh kill, bits of meat and fur still clinging to the bone.

"Damn it, Vilkas!" Skjor barked. "If you value your hide-"

He threw the flaps of the tent open, and he had but a split second to see a pair of furious silver eyes and bared teeth before he found himself flying over the fire.

" _FUS RO DAH!"_

He felt the words like a punch, the air knocked out of his lungs and agony ripping through him before he even hit the ground.

"Fucking idiot!" Aela shouted, furious.

Vilkas groaned, even that action enough to make him whimper in pain. He distantly heard the horses panicking and Aela and Skjor fighting to control them, along with Farkas crying out in shock. Shor's bones, but he hurt all over. He didn't think anything was broken, but he could taste blood where he had bitten his tongue and was lucky he hadn't taken it clean off. Every joint in his body throbbed, as if he'd been stretched on a rack, and his guts ached as if he had just gotten pummeled by a half dozen trolls.

He rolled onto his side, the first step in trying to get himself up off the ground, when a bare foot was planted on his shoulder to shove him back over. He coughed and moaned, and before he could register what was happening his helmet was being yanked off.

Skjor ordered, "Edric, enough. You've proven your point."

Vilkas cracked opened his eyes and saw a very naked Dragonborn leaning over him, hair messy and a crease on his cheek from sleeping. Vilkas blinked and his eyes widened as he got an eyeful then he found himself on the receiving end of a sharp, stinging slap.

He shouted and covered his face, crying, "All right, all right!"

"Heal him," Skjor demanded.

"No," Edric retorted in a sour tone, tossing the helmet to the ground, then his footsteps retreated.

The Harbinger got down off his horse, the animal calmed, and knelt at Vilkas' side. "Is anything broken?" he asked in a mutter, voice vibrating with anger. It was hard to say who he was angrier with at the moment. Vilkas shook his head, his hands still over his face. Skjor hissed in frustration and stood, saying to Edric, "If you have any respect for my authority you're going to heal him right damn now. Any other time I'd say fuck him and let him take his lumps. This is not the time. You _know_ it's not the time." He was ignored, and Vilkas heard him walk toward the tent. "Do you want your mate going on a job with a compromised shield-brother? Because that is what's going to happen if you don't heal him. We don't have the potions to spare when you can have him up on his feet in less than a minute."

"Your authority," Edric said in a flat tone. "Do Harbingers have any actual authority? I wasn't aware that they did. In fact _you_ were the one who told me they didn't." His statement was met with dead silence.

 _Shit_. Vilkas rolled over and lied, "I'll...I'll be fine." He knew with utter clarity just how far he had overstepped his bounds this time. Gods, how he knew it. He also knew it wouldn't be the last time he fucked up, but he wasn't about to be the cause of the Harbinger and the Dragonborn butting heads. He was the cause of enough turmoil in the hall without adding that to it, and that would be very bad for everyone involved.

"Edie honey, please," Farkas pleaded. "I know you're angry, I am too, but Skjor's right. Vilkas can't even get up right now, let alone fight."

"You could have killed him, you know," Aela said to her pup in disapproval.

Edric stated without sympathy, "Oh yes, I know. I've seen that shout disintegrate people. Nothing left but a pile of ash and bits of metal. Sometimes a few teeth."

"Damn it, Edric!" she cried in horror.

"I knew it wouldn't kill him. Give me some credit. He might be a godawful prick, but he's tough."

Vilkas shuddered, eyes squeezed shut under his hands. _Disintegrated_. By Ysmir, this was terrifying, and why, _why_ did he keep doing this, pushing Edric too far and getting his ass handed to him in varying horrible ways? He had been on the receiving end of that shout before, from draugr, on rare jobs inside crypts, jobs the Companions did their best to avoid, and it had sent him flying into walls or down stairs but the shout itself had never caused damage, only the landing. He wondered in terror if the pain he had felt as he flew through the air was his body trying to hold itself together against the onslaught of the Dragonborn's thu'um, a Dragonborn who by some accounts was the second most powerful who had ever lived, second only to the one who had become a god. Well, if he had doubted that before, he no longer did. It wouldn't change much, the next time he fucked up, but he no longer doubted.

There was a tinkling, whooshing sound and he felt warm healing magic wrap around him, and as his bruises and internal injuries retreated he stayed put, afraid to open his eyes. He heard the soft tread of bare feet and made a sound of anxiety, then his hands were yanked away from his face. He cringed, expecting another slap.

"Open your eyes, asshole," Edric demanded, "and if you look at my cock again I'm going to tie yours in a knot."

The Companion gurgled and opened his eyes, his entire body tense and face scrunched up in dread. He kept his eyes on Edric's face, difficult as that was, and by Dibella he could _smell_ him, musky and wolfish, spicy and sweaty and male, the scent of sex overlaid with the scent of Farkas. Gods help him, even in his current pathetic state the mix of scents was almost enough to make him lean close and start sniffing Edric. He looked like a wild man, wearing nothing but an amulet of Kynareth, body bruised and scraped and hair disheveled, pale eyes burning with anger. "I…" he croaked. "Apologize."

Edric sat back slightly, expression still strained, though he looked surprised and slightly mollified, whatever he had been about to say forgotten.

"Blessed are the Nine," Aela said in mock wonder as she looked to the sky. "Someone fetch the Jarl and declare a holiday."

Edric began to stand and Vilkas quickly shut his eyes, not taking the risk of catching another glimpse of the Dragonborn's nudity. It wasn't as if he needed to look, with the image burned into his brain now. Edric might be a Nord through and through, but he certainly wasn't built like one, in any regard. He was lovely though, perfectly formed, if very non-threatening. Farkas probably found that aspect of his lover adorable, like everything else.

He heard Edric retreat then a few seconds later there were bare feet again, but a heavier tread, and he smelled his twin and opened his eyes, though he avoided his gaze. "I am sorry," he whispered, so softly only Farkas could hear.

Farkas scowled at him, his expression as dark as storm clouds. "That was really fucking stupid," he muttered. "He could've killed you."

"He was already awake," Vilkas scoffed. "He knew who I was. If he had killed me it would have been deliberate."

Skjor interjected, "You can't keep your mouth shut, can you?" He shook his head and walked off in disgust.

Farkas looked ready to do the same, his lips pursing as his scowl deepened. Vilkas looked away, feeling like an ass, nothing new. He was too tired to offer much in the way of self-flagellation at the moment, and really what was the point anymore? He could writhe with guilt all he wanted and it wouldn't stop him from going off the edge again. Only one thing would, and they were no closer to it than they had ever been. The odds of getting back all the pieces of Wuuthrad that had been missing for thousands of years were close to nil. Not even Edric could pull off that feat.

His twin grumbled and offered his hand, and Vilkas sighed and let Farkas help him to his feet. He was bone-tired from a poor night's sleep, knowing the pack was out hunting without him. He'd had to resist the urge to go outside and listen for the howls and had instead gotten up and pounded on the training dummy then exercised until he'd collapsed from sheer exhaustion.

Once he was on his feet his brother turned away, and Vilkas growled in shocked anger as he took in the marks on Farkas' skin. He was scratched and abraded all over and there was a bite mark on his ass, a _human_ bite, and to crown it all off there were claw marks and bruises on his hips, along with faint bruises on the backs of his thighs.

"What the fuck did you let him do to you!" Vilkas cried.

Farkas flinched but didn't stop heading for the tent, where his lover was rustling around inside. "None of your goddamn business," he growled. "You try to make it your business and I'm gonna be the next one to flatten you."

Vilkas couldn't take his eyes off the marks, and maybe none of the scratches had really broken the skin much, but it still looked like Farkas had been brutalized. If he had seen a woman walking around looking like that he would assume the worst and demand to know who had done it to her then taken care of the situation himself.

Aela saw the look on his face and warned, "Let it go."

He turned on her and said through clenched teeth, "And you two let it happen."

"It's none of your damn business," Skjor called from the horses. "He's a grown man."

The Huntress added in a biting tone, "And frankly you've got quite the short memory if you can't recall some of the tussles we've all gotten into in the spring. You're involving yourself in something that has nothing to do with you."

"It has everything to do with me if my brother is being abused!"

He gasped and took a step back as Edric launched himself out of the tent with a snarl, and only Farkas lunging forward and catching him around the waist stopped Vilkas from what would certainly be another ass kicking. The Companion shuddered as the Dragonborn shook off his lover's arms and began to pace, his eyes tinged with yellow, his eyes fixed on Vilkas. He was at least wearing pants now, and he had similar marks on his body, but it was that bite and the bruising on Farkas' hips that was upsetting. The damage was superficial, but it shouldn't have been there at all.

Vilkas lowered his eyes and turned his head to the side. It was all he could do to defuse the situation. Edric's stare was a challenge, a display of threat and of dominance, and it was one he couldn't hope to meet. Or survive, if it came to that. Edric wouldn't kill him, he knew that much, but he would make Vilkas hurt, and what was worse was that Farkas would witness it.

"You push, and you push," Edric stated, furious, the air vibrating with the thu'um, "with no thought for the consequences. Be glad that I love your brother so much. Be glad that I love him more than you apparently care for your own life."

"Edie, _no_ ," Farkas whispered.

He ignored his lover and said to Vilkas, "I asked if I should heal him, not that it's any of your fucking business. I offered, and he laughed it off, and that was the end of it, and I left it at that, because I trust his judgment. Aela and Skjor left him there with me last night, still a wolf, because he said he could handle it and they trusted his judgment. You think I like seeing him marked up like that? Fuck no, but he said he's fine and I believe him. I _respect_ him, which is a hell of a lot more than you can say."

"Edric, knock it off," Farkas demanded, then his tone softened again. "Please."

The Dragonborn stopped in front of his partner, his body trembling with anger as he looked up at the bigger man. "You have no idea," he stated hotly, "no idea at all how it... _vexes_ me to tolerate the situation in Jorrvaskr. I live there week after week, month after month, and watch this one single _irritant_ create discord and chaos, willfully, and my hands are kept tied. I understand he wasn't always like this, all right? But just how much turmoil is he going to be allowed to create before someone either deals with him or lets me do so? If no one has the spine or the will to fix things around here, then everyone get out of my way and let _me_ fix it!"

_It's what I do. I'm a fixer._

Vilkas rubbed his face then turned and bent down to pick up his helmet. He put it on as he walked to his horse, aching with guilt. Useless guilt. It was as useless as everything else in his life lately. Useless hopes. Useless anger.

"I don't know how hard it is," Farkas admitted, his voice shaking. "It's hard and it's shitty and unfair, but we can't just let you kill him."

"I never said I'd kill him. I say the pack hauls his crazy ass out onto the plains and pulls that fucking ring off his hand, as often as we need to in order to keep him toeing the line. That no one has seriously contemplated doing that is appalling. There is a simple way to rectify this entire situation and for some bizarre reason everyone keeps dancing around it. Someone please explain to me the logic behind that!"

A chill went through Vilkas as Aela and Skjor looked at each other, thoughtful expressions on their faces, then they looked at him. As if they were considering actually doing it. Forcing him. When it was put the way Edric had put it, then no, the situation made no sense. He knew why no one had forced him yet, but the Dragonborn didn't have those decades of caring and trust built up. The Circle hadn't forced Vilkas because they loved him, and that was the only reason.

Skjor asked him, "Is that what it's come to, brother?" Vilkas shook his head vehemently.

Edric yelled, "You can't take his word for shit! All his promises amount to nothing in his state!"

The Harbinger winced as thunder cracked around them. "Probably."

The Dragonborn let out a growling shout of anger then stabbed a finger at Skjor and barked, "I find the situation here intolerable!"

"I get that."

"No. No you do _not_ get that. He's given me nothing but shit since the moment he set eyes on me. I could've washed my hands of Whiterun and the Companions and your fucked up Circle the moment _Bormah_ was committed to the fire and never looked back, and yet I didn't, so now you expect me to just stand by and take that asshole's behavior and do nothing about it?"

"I never said that. He had that shout coming," Skjor stated. His tone was even and his stance firm but non-confrontational. There was wariness in his gaze though, as if he knew he was on thin ice with the very angry and very dangerous creature in front of him. "As I said, if we didn't have a job to do I would have left him as he was. But you took it a step too far when you slapped him."

Edric's nostrils flared, and when his eyes swung over to Vilkas the Companion visibly shivered. "I did, did I? Do you want to know why I slapped him? Would everyone like to know exactly how he asked for it? I could go all the way back to Dustman's Cairn if you need examples of how his behavior towards me earned him that slap."

 _Gods no_ , Vilkas begged. And yet what could he say? He had it coming, every single bit of humiliation Edric threw his way. His eyes shifted over to Farkas, and his twin looked heartbroken, staring at his lover with open sorrow. It had to hurt, knowing he was the only thing that kept Edric in a place and a situation he found stressful and aggravating. Farkas then lowered his eyes and looked over at Vilkas. They all looked at Vilkas, and he could feel his face grow hot. Skjor and Aela seemed at a loss, but Farkas knew. He hadn't known about Dustman's Cairn, though, and he aimed a look of betrayal at Vilkas that hurt to the bone.

"I'm not going to tolerate that shit," Edric insisted. "Coming into my personal space and disrespecting it. No woman would be expected to put up with that. No shield-sister would have to just take it. I shouldn't have to put up with it because I'm a man, regardless of what _he_ thinks I am. I won't do it. He starts walking the straight and narrow or I'm going to come down on him so hard his teeth rattle. Today was the final straw. If the Circle and the Harbinger refuse to deal with him, then I'm going to be on him nonstop to keep him in line around me. Every single fucking problem he has boils down to his refusal to hunt, and if you all won't make him do it then you're going to have to take this and like it."

Vilkas' mouth twisted and lips pursed, his face burning, as understanding lit up Skjor and Aela's eyes. He didn't defend himself. He had no right to. This was it. This was finally it. He had pushed Edric past any lingering patience the Dragonborn had left. He glanced at Farkas and his brother looked angry and upset, angry with Vilkas of course, and maybe a little angry with his lover for hiding that Vilkas had behaved inappropriately towards him, more than once.

Skjor stated, "I don't have to like it, but I'll take it. We know you didn't have to stay here. _I_ know that. For what it's worth, I'm glad you did."

Edric grunted then gave a curt nod, his anger cooling off. "It isn't as if I'm sorry I did."

"We know that too."

He threw his arms out. "I can't just sit around and do nothing. I can't watch something happening, something I can prevent, and do nothing."

"Well aware. That's not what I'm asking you to do." The Harbinger turned to Vilkas, still standing silently by his horse. "You, I'm done asking."

"Aye, Harbinger," Vilkas muttered.

"It pisses me off that you've put me in this position. It isn't supposed to be like this. The Harbinger doesn't give orders, and yet here I am, having to give orders. Stay the fuck away from him. If you can't do that, if you cause even _one_ more scene like this, then we're doing to do exactly what he suggests and force you to change."

Vilkas nodded, hands shaking. "Aye."

Skjor sighed heavily and gave Vilkas one last long, appraising look, then the older man shook his head and turned away to go to Farkas' horse, next to Aela's. It was obvious what he was thinking, and all Vilkas could hope was that his indiscretions weren't brought up later. He and Edric had cut a deal to never bring it up, back during his Trial, but Vilkas had made things so difficult since then he didn't blame the Dragonborn for this.

Vilkas stayed by his own mount, stinging with embarrassment and shame, glad for the scarce cover of his helmet and the setting sun. He watched silently as the Harbinger fetched Farkas' armor and set it next to the tent, giving the still fuming Dragonborn a wide berth.

Edric squatted down by the remains of the fire, glowering, reaching out to warm his hands, then Farkas knelt at his side. The big man didn't say anything at first, didn't touch Edric, just knelt there and stared at him with a sad expression on his face, still stark naked. Edric's scowl faltered and he looked up at his lover and visibly melted. Farkas blew out a breath then smiled and gently took the back of Edric's head and pulled him to his shoulder, bending his own head down to rub against it. The other hand took Edric's left and their fingers twined together, and the sight of it was so bizarre to Vilkas that it left him numb.

It was such an intimate act, a tender one, and he couldn't look away from it. They were palm to palm, thumbs twiddling together, and Farkas was talking low, the only thing discernable a bass rumble. There was a definite _something_ that was different from yesterday. More closeness, the bond stronger.

But those marks. They were visible on one hip the way Farkas was turned, and while the scratches were placed widely, the span of a werewolf's claws, the bruises were small, human-sized. It wasn't as if Vilkas hadn't taken a turn or two on the receiving end when he was young, but he had been sleeping with only women for so long that he cringed at the thought now, of being that vulnerable. It wasn't anything he had particularly enjoyed in the past but he had tolerated it for the sake of getting off, and he had never taken it so rough that it had left that kind of evidence behind. It looked terrible, and it had to have hurt, and yet Farkas had laughed it off. But then Dibella only knew what his brother had been doing off on his own all these years, and maybe it really wasn't the big deal Vilkas was making out of it.

Well, there was no maybe about it. Of course Vilkas was making more out of it than he should. He did that with everything. He always had, beastblood or not.

The pair pulled apart enough to look at each other, and something in Vilkas' chest twisted, something ugly and unworthy, at the look that passed between them. The unmarked side of Edric's face was turned towards him, and those lovely features gazed at Farkas like he was the moons and stars. Jealousy. Yes, it was certainly jealousy he was feeling, and it was no longer only jealousy over Edric taking away Farkas and ruining the plans they had made when they were young. No, he couldn't really fool himself in that regard anymore.

He turned away before he was seen, alternately petting the horse and checking his gear, while Skjor helped Farkas into his armor and Aela packed up the tent and gear for Farkas to take with him. Edric would be going back to Whiterun, so there was nothing to leave with him other than the clothing he would wear and his sword.

Vilkas' gaze drifted back to Edric, as it always did. How could it not? He still wore only pants in the chilly air, and he was clearly cold but seemed in no hurry to get dressed. Edric reached out to pick up the deer skull, looking it over. The bottom jaw had been removed and it was fairly clean, the eyes taken out along with the brain. It had been a large deer, a good twelve points with a symmetrical rack, an excellent souvenir of a first hunt.

Edric turned the skull to look at the back, picking off bits of grass. Vilkas' heart went into his throat when the young man held it up in front of his face, like a mask, and in his half-undressed state with the mountains behind him and the fire lighting up the skull it was almost as if the Companion was looking at the Lord of the Hunt himself. He could see the glitter of Edric's eye through one of the sockets, staring straight at him. Taunting him.

The Dragonborn slowly stood and Vilkas couldn't look away, his pulse pounding, feeling so much like prey that he was frozen in place. Edric stood there, staring at him, the only movement the slow rise and fall of his chest. He still looked thinner than before he had taken the beastblood, making Vilkas wonder just how much of his daily intake had been alcohol. He was surely eating now, but he looked leaner than he should. Vilkas swallowed, a tendril of sweat trickling down his back, wondering what exactly the Dragonborn was trying to prove, if anything. Maybe he was just taking pleasure in terrifying someone, as he had when he had taken Torvar's life yesterday. Had it been only yesterday?

Then Aela was going back to her pup, breaking the line of sight between them. Vilkas let out a shuddering breath of relief and turned to his horse again, keeping the Dragonborn in sight out of the corner of his eye. There was no way he was taking his eyes completely off the monster while he was around.

Gods, what was taking so long for everyone to get going? All he wanted was to leave and get on with their business and forget this evening had ever happened. He wanted to get out on the road and leave the Dragonborn as far behind as possible. It would be only a temporary reprieve, but he would take whatever he could get.

The Huntress laughed and put her hands on Edric's shoulders. "A good trophy of a good hunt," she said in approval. "The old fellow gave us a fight."

"Aye, we're going to clean it up and hang it in our room," Edric stated, a note of satisfaction in his voice, all trace of the thu'um gone, though it echoed inside the deer bone.

 

"Excellent." She let go of him and he bent down to set the skull on the ground. "You're going to be all right, then? Without the pack for a few days?" Edric muttered something unintelligible. "Yes, I'm well aware of that, but it's different now. You're no longer used to being alone, and you recently went through Oblivion getting clean. You need to stay vigilant. Don't put yourself into a situation where you'll be tempted."

Edric's lips pursed as he stared off into the distance, towards Whiterun. He frowned, more a look of worry than anger. "It's still getting to me," he admitted, barely more than a grumble. "This morning, when I woke up… It was bad. Really bad." He clenched a fist and rubbed his palm against his knuckles in an anxious motion. "I don't trust myself, Aela."

The Huntress clucked her tongue and put her hands on his shoulders again. "It's early yet. You don't give yourself enough credit." She gave him a shake. "Keep one of the whelps with you. Ria would be more than happy to shadow you until we get back. Barring that, Njada would jump at the chance to knock you on your ass if you even look at a drink."

"Right," he murmured. He let out a hissing breath and rubbed a hand over his face. "Right."

"You can do this, brother. I have faith in you. You need to have faith in yourself."

Edric made a whining sound that made the hair on Vilkas' skin stand on end, then he moved close to Aela to lay his forehead on her shoulder. She stiffened, and when he persisted she sputtered and put her arms around him, shaking her head in exasperation. Vilkas could hardly believe his eyes, but there it was, happening right in front of him. He didn't think Aela had ever held someone in her life. The most warmth she ever showed was a hand on a shoulder or a gentle nudge.

This was her pup though, and there was always a bond between forebear and the one they created. It was what made Skjor's anger and disgust with Vilkas hurt all the more. It was a hurt he deserved, he knew that. The thought of how he had gradually lost Skjor's respect made his guts twist.

He glanced at his brothers and the other two men were staring at Aela as well, then Skjor deliberately turned away to give Farkas a final once-over. Satisfied, he slapped the bigger man on the arm then returned to his horse. Farkas continued watching Aela and Edric, then a smile spread over his face, as if the sight of them together warmed him. Maybe it did. Vilkas wouldn't have taken kindly to a lover turning to someone else for comfort, even that of a platonic sort, but Farkas had a soft heart. And a lover. Vilkas was unlikely to have either ever again.

Heat surged through him, and he grabbed the reins and barked at Skjor, "I'm riding ahead."

"No you're not," the older man replied, curt.

"Then when the fuck are we going to leave!" he shouted. "I'm sick of waiting!"

"Too bad. You're waiting. We aren't splitting up."

Vilkas growled loudly and the horse tossed its head, uneasy, so he walked away from it before it panicked. The Companions' mounts were used to the Circle's scent, but any behavior that started to get too wolflike didn't sit well with the animals. He resisted the temptation to walk over to his twin and start trouble, and indeed one glance that direction showed his brother's mate staring coldly at him, tracking his movements, the tip of his tongue playing with the tip of a canine tooth.

He ignored the creature, turning his back with deliberation to walk towards the Shrine of Talos a couple dozen yards away. It was seldom visited, the offerings here wilted or rusting. Jergen had no doubt visited it a time or two in his travels, or while hunting. Gods and Divines meant little to Vilkas. What did they ever do for anyone, except give people one more thing to fight about? The Daedra at least were responsive in some fashion to their worshipers, not that any of them appealed to him either. He would be escaping the clutches of this particular Daedric Prince as soon as he could, once he convinced Farkas to take the cure as well. He'd be damned before he let either of them end up in the Hunting Grounds, and he'd be damned before he let them share Jergen's fate.

To be honest, they were already damned, but he had to do whatever it took to free them. Both of them.

He sat down at the base of the shrine to wait, watching the rest of the Circle. Skjor and Aela were talking by the horses while Edric dressed. Farkas hovered over his little darling, and the look of anxiety on both their faces was plain even from here. Ridiculous for two grown men to behave in such a way. Surely they could tolerate being parted for a few days. Surely Edric could stay sober on his own for that long.

It seemed that finally, _finally_ , everyone was ready to leave, and Vilkas was about ready to pull his hair out with the tedium of waiting. Now Edric was doing the hovering, following close behind his lover as Farkas went to his horse.

Vilkas hauled himself to his feet with a grumble and headed back, watching from the shadow of his helmet as the two men fussed over each other then kissed. That nearly stopped him in his tracks, seeing Edric leaning up to take Farkas' head in his hands, the bigger man's hands landing on the Dragonborn's waist. Vilkas didn't think he had ever seen them kiss before, or if they had not like this, lingering. It made the anger build again, fed by a spike of jealousy and a swell of despair. He was simply never going to have this. Never have a wife, never have that easy source of comfort. He _could_ have had this, someone to love him, someone he could have shared with his other half, if Edric hadn't come along. Edric had ruined everything. Everything.

The two stood close and Farkas touched their foreheads together, talking, and Edric shrugged and looked down at their joined hands, seeming embarrassed, or ashamed, then Farkas tilted his chin up to look him in the eye and asked something again. Edric took in a deep breath then nodded, frowning. Farkas smiled and shook his head then kissed his lover's forehead, murmuring something against it, then the Dragonborn smiled sheepishly and raised his hands. A warm golden glow wrapped around the big warrior, and when it was done the two started in again with the petting and the kissing, until even Aela got fed up with it.

"All right, save it for when we get back!" she called out in good-natured annoyance.

At her call, Vilkas realized that he had stopped and was standing still, staring at the two of them, his fists clenched, sweating beneath his armor even in the chilly evening air.

Fuck Skjor. He walked to his horse and mounted in a swift movement then rode away. It wasn't a gallop, just a trot, but it was enough to get him away from the Dragonborn and the man's insidious influence. The Harbinger yelled after him and he ignored it. He wasn't bothering Edric or hurting anyone, so the older man could kiss his ass.

He rode down the slope, knowing there were shallows there that provided a place to ford the river. He let the horse pick its own footing, trusting its senses more than his own, especially right now, and mulled over how in Oblivion he was ever going to convince his brother to take the cure. It seemed impossible that Farkas would ever do so, now that the bond was well on its way to forming. Why would Farkas choose to break it? He clearly didn't care about the state of his soul, or even care all that much about Edric's if he hadn't tried to talk his lover out of becoming a werewolf.

He was across the river and letting the horse find its way up the other side when he heard the others behind him, hooves striking stone and splashing water. They didn't call out and he was fine with that. As they rode the others kept their distance, not something he minded. A few weeks ago their reluctance to join him would have hurt. Well, no, it still did, but it was a hurt he felt he deserved. He deserved much worse than his packmates giving him space. He deserved, in fact, exactly what the Dragonborn had just dished out.

They were nearly to Valtheim Towers before he heard one of the horses canter up behind and then beside him. He smelled his brother before he saw him. Edric's scent was still underlying everything, pleasing and aggravating, inescapable.

When it appeared that Farkas wasn't about to say anything, Vilkas muttered, "I'm glad you came to your senses and had him heal you." None of the marks had been serious enough to leave a scar, even with the delay, but they would have left Farkas sore, and with what they were heading out to do it was best to avoid any possible impairment.

"I only did it because it bothered him," Farkas replied in an equally surly tone. "It's not like he's happy it happened. It just...happened."

"It looked terrible. If you have any brains, you won't let him do it again."

His twin's voice lowered an octave, so deep that Vilkas could almost feel it rattle his armor. "You got any brains, you'll mind your own fucking business," Farkas warned.

Vilkas bit his lip and closed his eyes for a moment. Stupid. Stupid thing for him to say, after having his ass handed to him. "You're right," he mumbled. "None of my business." None at all. Farkas hadn't asked Edric to heal him for Vilkas' sake, but for Edric's. Of course the Dragonborn had been uncomfortable seeing what he had done to his partner, and even so, it wasn't as if the damage had been more than cosmetic or would have hampered Farkas in any real way. Not like the damage Edric had done to Vilkas. That had been very real. He truly didn't think he had ever come closer to dying than he had right then. That arrow to the chest had been pretty bad, but if he had started disintegrating there would be no stopping it.

Gods, _disintegrating_. The thought made him shiver in terror. There would be nothing anyone could do but scoop up what was left into his helmet, or a sack or something.

He was certain the ride would be filled with stony silence, but after several minutes Farkas blurted out, "It was his first hunt, you know."

Vilkas sighed. "Yes. I realize that. As I said, it's none of my business. As always, I should have kept my mouth shut." He hardly wanted to discuss this. Now that his temper had cooled, the thought of discussing what happened the previous night was distressing. He didn't want to know. He really didn't. He knew what happened between mating werewolves, as well as any of the Circle, but he would rather not put himself through the effort of trying to figure it out between two males. There had been two sets of marks on Farkas' hips, one wolfish and one human, and he couldn't… No, he just couldn't go there.

"This is it, you know. This is really it. He's going to be _on_ you, Vilkas. And everyone's gonna let him. Me too."

"So be it."

Farkas looked at him sideways, his expression hard to read inside his helmet in the lowering light, as was his own. His twin turned his gaze back to the road, where the ruin up ahead sat dark and foreboding, and with any luck empty. He opened his mouth and took in a breath, ready to speak, then deflated and closed up again. His hands were tight on the reins, and after a dozen yards Farkas began twisting them as he gnawed on his bottom lip.

The Companion didn't comment on it, leaving his brother to his own thoughts, keeping his own to himself. It wasn't as if Farkas didn't have cause to worry about leaving his lover behind, alone, no matter who that lover was. Edric had hardly been sober long enough to trust him to stay away from liquor on his own, and the whelps shouldn't have to take any responsibility in that regard. Vilkas felt this trip had been poorly planned, going after the Silver Hand right after a new pack member's first hunt, less than a week after that pack member had finished going through a harrowing withdrawal, but there was nothing else they could do.

Valtheim Towers was indeed empty and seemed to have been for some time, if the small piles of guano on the second floor were any indicator. The bats flew in and out of the upper level, to swoop down low over the water, skimming for flying insects. They were skittish creatures and wouldn't roost in a place with a great deal of human activity. Vilkas didn't understand why Vignar didn't keep hold guards stationed here, as frequently as this road was traveled now, with the war a year over. Perhaps there weren't enough guards to spare. Come next year there would be fewer still, if war came.

The four didn't stay, and the smell would have made them move on even if they were ready for sleep. They had too much distance to cover to stop this early in the evening.

They rode on through the night, the silence broken only by the jingle of their horses' tack and the clop of shod hooves. None of them spoke, not even Aela and Skjor, whose mission this truly was. It wasn't an endeavor that Vilkas was comfortable with, knowing that Kodlak would have disapproved. He wouldn't have partaken in it at all if he wasn't desperate to get those pieces of Wuuthrad that the Silver Hand supposedly held. Kodlak's soul would never know peace unless all of the shattered weapon was recovered, and perhaps that wasn't something they could achieve in Vilkas' lifetime, but he would do his damnedest to get them closer to that goal.

When the horses began to tire, the Companions were ready to get off the road and rest for several hours, though they had taken breaks here and there to water the horses and let them graze along the way. There was a thick copse of trees near Fort Amol, and they made camp there within sight of the walls. Skjor walked into the open to call out to the Eastmarch soldiers inside and announce their presence, a wise thing to do close to dawn. It was a good place to stop, just off the road in the shelter of the trees, and they wouldn't have to set a watch with soldiers less than a hundred feet away keeping a watch of their own.

The others made camp as the officer on night duty came out and talked with the Harbinger. Vilkas cared for the horses while Aela and Farkas set up the tents, and he could hear their quiet murmurs to each other but little else. There was little point eavesdropping; they were probably talking about Edric. Worrying about Edric. Fussing. About a grown man.

The horses were watered and given a bit of grain in each of their feedbags, and as Skjor returned Vilkas noticed that his tent had been set up as far from Farkas' as possible. His lips pursed at the slight. He hadn't seen who was responsible, not that it mattered. It hurt either way.

The Harbinger said to his brethren, "They offered the hospitality of the fort. Told them we were on urgent business and would be moving on as soon as we were rested but that we appreciated the offer."

Farkas and Vilkas both grunted while Aela nodded. They all would have preferred to be out of the weather and have access to a fire, but none of them were eager to be penned up inside, surrounded by soldiers. The risk of detection wasn't great on its own, but Farkas still smelled too much of wolf, even if he did seem to have made a half-assed effort to wash at some point yesterday, and there was always the chance that the soldiers had hounds, who were either wary of werewolves or too damn interested.

The Circle rarely did jobs in more than ones or twos, so for four senior members of the Companions to be out on some unknown mission was odd and bound to draw attention and speculation. Better not to chance anyone looking any further into their business.

It was full dark again by time they found themselves rounding the large pond Edric had spoken of. Oddly, there was a lamp hanging from a tree on the small island at the center, and no sign of spriggans, but Vilkas had run into enough of them in wild spaces, appearing out of nowhere, to believe Edric's word that they were there. The mounts were left in the grove of trees just to the north, wool horse blankets secured over them to keep them warm in the frigid air. It was starting to snow, though it wasn't any farther to the north than Whiterun was, and there was no telling how long this mission would take. Not long, he hoped. The entire endeavor still left a bad taste in his mouth.

Less than an hour's walk through the thin layer of fresh snow and they were creeping through another grove of pine and spruce, the fort in sight. Vilkas had to hand it to Edric; the scene was just as the Dragonborn had painted it, with the ruined tower jutting up over the remains of the old fort. No lights shone through the windows, though it looked as if a fire was lit on the ramparts before it.

Skjor moved close to Aela, to put his hand on her shoulder as she finished stringing her bow. "Get up on those rocks to the west and behind the fort," he whispered. "Once we go in, pick off anything that moves." The Huntress nodded and immediately set off, creeping along the nearby outcropping.

When Skjor turned to the brothers, Vilkas stated, "I will go in from the front, if Farkas approaches from the other side." His twin moved with surprising quiet and dexterity for such a large man and would be able to reach the open western side of the fort with a greater chance of success than Vilkas.

"Do it," the Harbinger agreed. He pointed at the tower. "I'll go in from the top and back and move in once I see you coming through. If we hit them from all sides at once we can disorient them. I don't see much movement out there, could be most of them are inside with the weather looking to turn foul."

"Aye."

Vilkas drew his great-sword, and as he was turning away he heard Farkas mutter, "Better remember your promise."

He looked back in surprise, wondering what in Oblivion that was supposed to mean, and to his surprise he saw the big lug scowling at Skjor, while the older man gazed back calmly with his single good eye, one eyebrow raised.

"I always keep my word, brother," the Harbinger said with a solemn nod. "This isn't the day I die." He then set off on the same path Aela had taken.

"What the hell was all that about?" Vilkas asked, confused. The statement had been cryptic, and more than a bit troubling.

"Later," Farkas muttered, before taking off at a fast walk, sticking to the rocks and trees when he could, quickly disappearing from sight.

The Companion gritted his teeth and waited for his brother to be well and truly gone before following after him. He couldn't be stealthy to save his life, even barefoot, so it was better to let his quieter twin have a head start.

He worked his way through the trees, around the slight downward slope in front of the fort's broken walls. Skyrim was covered with such places, the legacy of a decrepit Empire that was not much missed, even by him. He cared little for the matters of Kings and Jarls, and even less for Emperors, but he had to admit that it had been not unpleasant to be able to go about Companion business without looking over one's shoulder for the Thalmor. Even if he wasn't a Talos worshipper, the high elves had still treated every human they came across like the dirt on the bottoms of their pointy shoes, the Nords worst of all.

Sword drawn, he moved back up the hill, towards the empty gateway where the portcullis once was. He was greeted by gruesome trophies: severed werewolf heads skewered onto pikes and stakes, with severed paws and tails tossed around the bases for good measure.

The sight made his blood start to boil. It didn't matter that the dogs had probably brought it on themselves, through carelessness or poor control or what, it didn't matter. It didn't matter a damn bit. Those heads could be Farkas. Skjor. Aela. Even Edric. Those heads had belonged to people once, people who might have had families, might have belonged to a pack that kept to the wilds and threatened no one. As if that mattered. The Silver Hand wouldn't hesitate to torture and murder any werewolf they managed to lay hands on, no matter who they were.

He let out a war cry and ran through the gateway, straight for the Redguard woman standing guard at the only visible door. A shout of alarm went up from the ramparts and an arrow whizzed by Vilkas' ear, then the unseen archer went down with a gurgle.

"Wolves!" the guard screamed. She barely had time to pull her short sword before her head came off in a satisfying spray of dark red across the door.

He heard fighting above him, barely, white noise filling his ears as his skin crawled, the beast pushing against it from the inside, Hircine's Ring burning on his finger. The severed werewolf heads flanking the door grinned at him, long tongues lolling from their mouths.

_You're no better than us, brother. We're the same, all of us._

"No," he rasped, shaking his head as he tried to clear it. The smell of blood filled his nose as he bent over, great-sword falling over the body with a muffled thud, and he put his hands on his knees and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push the beastblood back. He wouldn't change, not like this, not unless he willed it. But it was hard not to will it. Too hard.

"Hey!"

Vilkas felt his brother's hands, pulling him upright and spinning him around, then those big hands were on either side of his face, forcing him to look up.

"Hey," Farkas repeated, his tone gentling. Vilkas grabbed his wrists and whimpered, and Farkas murmured, "Hey, shhh, it's okay."

"Are my eyes yellow?" he whispered, trembling.

"Yeah. Doesn't matter though. Anyone who sees it is gonna end up dead any-"

" _Help me_ ," Vilkas pleaded. It came out as a whine. He was whining like a pup and didn't care. Farkas sighed, frowning, and Vilkas whimpered, "I can't do this. I can't resist the call of the blood. I can't do it!"

"Then don't."

Vilkas flung his brother's hands away and turned to pick up his sword. He wiped it on the woman's furs then sheathed it, wanting to punch something, someone, close to tears. Of course Farkas would answer that way. "I will not break my oath to Kodlak," he swore.

Farkas asked, tense, "So what d'you want me to do, then? You asked me to help, and I only know one way to do it. It's the only thing that _will_ help. What else is there?"

There was one thing that had always helped: Farkas' presence. It was strong and steadying, calming, much as it was for Edric, and yet it now belonged to the Dragonborn. Vilkas knew the fault was his own, that he had pushed Farkas away, that he had earned Edric's enmity, to the point where he no longer had the right to expect his brother's comfort in the way he once had. To ask for it meant being in Farkas' personal space, asking to be let into the room he now shared with his lover. Mate. Whatever the hell they were becoming to each other. He could no longer simply knock on his twin's door and just sit with him anymore, not with Edric there. Not since he had made Edric hate him. Gods knew Edric had tried to make peace with him, more times than he had any right to deserve.

"I'm not your keeper," Farkas muttered. "I can't help you if you won't help yourself."

"And break my word while I do it? I _can't_."

"Kodlak never meant for this to happen," Farkas countered. "He never thought it would take this long to find a cure. He'd understand." Vilkas shook his head with a growl, then he stepped over the body to open the door to the fort. Farkas moved up alongside him and slammed his hand on the door, stopping him. "Uh-uh. It's all of us or none of us. No going ahead."

"What difference does it make!"

"No one's going ahead. No one's dying tonight."

Vilkas stared at him in utter confusion. There it was again, that cryptic statement. Then realization hit him. "Ah. Kodlak." Skjor had mentioned that some time ago, that Kodlak had seen that the Silver Hand could be the death of Skjor if he wasn't careful. Vilkas was used to his foster father's intuition, gift, curse, whatever you wanted to call it, but every so often it had surfaced in this chilling way.

"Yeah," Farkas said with a nod, but there was still something odd about his manner, a hesitation in his answer. "Kodlak did. He felt like Skjor would die if he went ahead on his own. That means anyone who does might die. It isn't gonna be you. It isn't gonna be anyone if I can help it."

"All right," he mumbled, bewildered, his mind calming. He could believe that. The old man must have told Skjor as well if the current Harbinger was abiding by it.

Skjor and Aela came just then, the Huntress examining a bloody steel-tipped arrow. She pursed her lips, seeming unsatisfied with the arrow's quality, then tossed it aside. "Let's finish this," she demanded. "I don't like leaving Jorrvaskr short-handed for this long."

"Nor do I," Skjor agreed.

Vilkas and his twin grunted in agreement, and probably for the same reason: Edric. Always Edric. It was pathetic, how the Dragonborn had been more trustworthy when he drank regularly than he was now. All it would take was one slip up and he would be back to square one, and unlike before he could probably get drunk now. A drunk Dragonborn was the stuff of nightmares. The Circle would most likely come back to a pile of smoking cinders instead of a home if Edric couldn't control his addiction.

Farkas frowned at Vilkas, his worry obvious. Damn straight he should be worried. He had willingly joined his future with a known alcoholic's, someone who would always be an alcoholic. Someone whose self-control he had to worry about. Someone who couldn't be trusted on their own. Maybe someday that would no longer be the case, but Edric would never be able to touch a drop of alcohol for the rest of his life or risk a relapse. How in Oblivion was the man going to be able to avoid that when it was everywhere he went?

His twin dropped his gaze as he took his hand from the door, and the four moved to either side of the door then Vilkas eased it open. Well they would see, wouldn't they, when they returned to Jorrvaskr, whether Edric could be trusted, and gods help him if he had given the whelps a hard time over it.

The entry was empty, other than another set of ghastly heads, but it was warm in here, two braziers burning with deceptive cheerfulness on either side of the small antechamber. They warmed themselves at them long enough to limber up and mentally prepare. The Circle hadn't done anything like this in Vilkas' memory, and he knew their history as well as Vignar did. This was vengeance, a bloody retribution. They could say they were here for the supposed pieces of Wuuthrad in the Silver Hand's possession, but that wasn't the main reason and he knew it. This was a warning. A shot across the bow.

Vilkas grit his teeth as Skjor pulled the chain to open the portcullis and the steel bars retracted into the floor with an ungodly racket. Well, if the Hand didn't know they were coming before, they would now. Indeed, a few seconds later a voice called up asking if everything was all right. There was no point in answering.

Skjor and Aela went ahead, the hallway down barely wide enough for two people, as the hunters inside called out again, an edge to their voices. The sound of chairs scooting back and weapons being drawn was heard.

The three lowlives were easily dispatched, but the scene that greeted them in the small room nearby wasn't so easily set aside. A dead werewolf hung there by one arm, evidence of torture on its body, and indeed nearby were a set of bloody tools. Skjor went in, staring for a moment before he lashed out with a foot and kicked the implements of torture to the side.

"Let's get her down," the Harbinger muttered. "Fucking savages."

"This is a waste of time," Vilkas complained. "She is dead."

Aela growled, "We're not leaving a sister in the blood to hang here like a side of beef until she rots and falls to the ground."

Vilkas shuddered, a sour taste in his mouth, then he moved to the chest, wanting nothing more than to get away. The dead she-wolf wouldn't be the last one they found here. He knew that with a certainty.

Farkas and Skjor found the key to the manacle and took the creature down while Vilkas searched the bodies for loot. The chest had turned up a small sum of gold which he pocketed and a magicka potion, worthless to any of them, so he left it behind; the Silver Hand between them had maybe a few dozen septims, a cure disease potion, some hawk feathers and charred skeever hide. He was interested in the gold alone and left the rest. Superstitious fools, thinking the smallest exposure to a lycanthrope's blood would turn them into rabid beasts. It certainly didn't stop them from spilling as much beastblood as they wanted. It seemed no amount would ever satisfy them.

The Circle fought their way through the old fort with few injuries, though those they took burned from silver blades and arrowheads and would no doubt scar. They came upon several dead werewolves, and several dead people who clearly were _not_ werewolves, caught up in the hunters' fervor, either suspected of being infected or being related to someone who was.

It was tragic, and infuriating, and as they went it became more and more difficult for Vilkas to restrain the bloodlust, fueled by his rage and horror. There was no reason for all this evil, for inflicting this level of sadism on anyone. The untainted humans and elves were dressed like farmers, or woodsmen, innocent folk who had gotten caught up in something they hadn't deserved.

When they reached Krev the Skinner, Vilkas charged into the room with a bellow, seeing red, the sounds around him muted and his ears ringing. He knew from Skjor that Krev the Skinner was a woman, and there was only one in the room, a Nord dressed in elaborately carved bear armor, war paint on her face. He ran straight for her, teeth bared, the beast pulsing beneath his skin. He felt an arrow strike his armor and skitter across the surface and he ignored it, focused on his prey.

The woman sneered at him, a cloak of werewolf hide around her shoulders, half a dozen werewolf tails gathered into a bunch at her belt, gruesome trophies of her fiendish trade. He swung at her and she blocked his strike with the haft of her mace. The weapon glowed with an eerie purple enchantment that lit up her crazed eyes.

"I shall enjoy breaking you dogs," Krev said with a grin. "It will take you days to die."

His response was to shove her back to free his weapon. A great-sword was not made for close quarters fighting, and it was close in here, his three packmates fighting off half a dozen assailants, the room full of obstacles that barely registered. She was skilled, he had to give her that, blocking his blows and getting in a few of her own, luckily none of them to the head.

Frustration built to the bursting point, and when he found himself backed against a slab of stone he smelled death and wolf musk, and out of the corner of his eye he saw a long-fingered, clawed hand hanging there, just within eyesight.

Vilkas roared and dropped his sword and ran at her, her eyes widening a second before he tackled her to the floor, his Skyforge steel screeching against her own armor. Krev was a good-sized woman, Nord tall and strong, but he was six inches taller and at least sixty pounds heavier, and his sheer mass and momentum was more than she could stand against.

He pinned her to the ground as she tried to swing the mace, but he was too close for it to connect, too heavy to push off. He grabbed the front of her helmet and bashed her head against the ground several times, stunning her, and it made such a satisfying sound that he continued doing it, even after the helmet came off.

The sound of his packmates yelling came to him as if he was underwater, and he ignored it, focused only on snuffing the life out of the monster beneath him. Erasing her. Making her _pay_.

Two sets of strong hands latched onto his armor and hauled him back, and Vilkas thrashed to get them off, snarling. He pushed at the beast inside, letting it slip its leash, and he felt the beginnings of the change coming, finally, after over six months of keeping it contained. Surely Kodlak would understand. The old man had said he regretted making Vilkas promise to abstain, so surely he wouldn't hold this against him, and he was unarmed. The only way to save himself from his attackers, the only way to save himself at all, was to give in to the beast.

A stein full of water was thrown in his face, and he sputtered and looked into his sister's silver eyes, panting. He blinked away the wetness, feeling the tension in the men next to him as they kept tight hold of him. Skjor. Farkas. Pack brothers.

"Not like this," Aela said in a strained voice. "Not here, not now."

As his blood cooled Vilkas closed his eyes, face burning with shame. He had nearly done it. He had let his disgust and fury push him to the point of changing, and he had been seconds away from it being too late to hold the beastblood in check. As it was his skin felt wrong, as if it didn't fit, like the head of a drum stretched too tight then released again.

Skjor murmured, "You good, brother?"

"Aye," he replied in a whisper. It was a lie, really. He wasn't good. He would never be good again. But he had some measure of control back.

The older man let him go, giving him a once-over then wrinkling his nose. "Shor's balls," he muttered as he walked away. "Clean yourself up before we get out of here. I'm not keen on explaining in case we run into anyone."

He opened his eyes and looked down, and he gagged at the sight of what was spattered on his armor. He swallowed, bile rising in his throat, and made the mistake of looking over at what remained of Krev the Skinner.

Farkas sighed as his brother stumbled away then doubled over, trying not to vomit. He followed after him and put a hand on his back, saying, "It's probably better to just let it out."

Vilkas whimpered and shook his head, eyes watering. Gods help him, his life was a nightmare, a living nightmare. He shouldn't have been capable of doing that, no matter who it was. It was a brutal death, a savage death, the sort only a monster would deal out. He breathed in and out through his mouth, the stench in the room inescapable.

Farkas patted his back, then a canteen was shoved in his face. He sank to his knees and took it, drinking at least half the water down, hands shaking with the aftereffects of the near change and the carnage he had wrought.

When he handed the canteen back to his twin, he whispered his thanks. Numbness was setting in, and perhaps that was a blessing.

His brother took his arm and tugged on it. "Let's go outside," Farkas suggested. "Get some snow and clean off the...goo."

Vilkas let himself get tugged to his feet, though he had to make a detour to get his sword. Skjor was standing before the altar-like stone table, Vilkas' sword in his hand, staring at the dead werewolf lying there. As the brothers came up next to him, it was obvious that the older man looked shaken, the Harbinger pale.

"What's wrong?" Farkas asked. "D'you know them?"

Skjor shook his head. "No, no, it's just...the damnedest thing," he murmured, tone distant. "As if I just felt someone walk on my grave." A full-body shudder went through him and he held the sword out to Vilkas. "You two go outside and keep an eye out. Aela and I are going to go through things in here. Make sure nothing points back to us. Papers and the like. See if we can find those pieces that are supposedly here."

"Got it."

Farkas cleaned off the sword as best he could and put it in its scabbard then steered his twin through a side door, one that led back to the first main room. He found a bottle of mead and handed it to Vilkas, who took it wordlessly and drank it on the way out.

The numbness held, as they stood guard before the door and Farkas took handfuls of snow and used it to scrub off the bits of brain and flesh that clung to Vilkas' armor, his face impassive. Vilkas took the attention for what it was, wishing he could enjoy it. He couldn't. He didn't hate it either. It just...was.

It held until Skjor and Aela came out the door, a triumphant grin on the Huntress' usually inexpressive face as she held up a battered leather pack. "Three pieces," she declared with glee. "Two more and Wuuthrad will be complete."

"That's...fantastic," Vilkas breathed. He hadn't really believed that Skjor and Aela's intelligence on the matter had been any good. It seemed more than they could realistically hope for that the Silver Hand held the last two fragments. Still, he would take hope in whatever form it came.

On the walk back to the horses, Skjor said to Aela, "I don't want to give these bastards any breathing room. Get hold of your contact and see if you can track down more of their camps. I want to keep hitting them hard."

Troubled, Vilkas warned, "If we make too much of this, we're going to attract attention from the Dawnguard." Isran was paranoid and his people well-trained, nothing like this rabble that they had just cleaned out. Krev had been a skilled fighter; with that and the mace she used, Vilkas was more convinced than ever that she was a former Vigilant of Stendarr. So were Isran and a number of his people. As far as Vilkas knew, between the Dawnguard, the Companions and the Dragonborn every vampire in Skyrim was dead, and so the Dawnguard sat in their fort, twiddling their thumbs. They would eagerly take on a new challenge if one presented itself.

Aela snorted. "The Dawnguard worked with all of us, and Edric," she said in a skeptical tone. "They'd need solid proof before believing what we are. Even then, what do you think Edric would do if they started targeting us? The old man made him promise to not hunt the Silver Hand. He never said anything about the Dawnguard."

Vilkas grunted and left the matter alone. He wasn't about the argue that Edric couldn't possibly take on the Dawnguard. After being nearly disintegrated yesterday he would have been a fool to. And yes, he was a fool, but not that big of one. The only being that had ever done real damage to the Dragonborn had been Alduin, and even then he had killed the beast. After everything he had done, all the dragons he had put down, all the battles he had fought in the Civil War, all the forts he had taken, after fighting draugr and vampires and bandits and even another Dragonborn, storming Fort Dawnguard and killing everyone in it wouldn't present an insurmountable challenge to Edric.

A note of displeasure in his voice, Farkas stated, "Edie respects Isran and his people. He's gonna be mad if we do something and he has to kill him."

His twin drawled, "Must you call him that?"

"Who? It's his name, isn't it? Isran."

"No no no. Edric and that...that _ridiculous_ nickname of yours for him."

"He likes it," Farkas retorted.

"He isn't here!"

"He likes it," Farkas repeated in a low growl, "and so do I."

Vilkas grumbled and rolled his eyes, and when he opened his mouth to suggest his brother keep the name to himself Aela smacked his breastplate then stuck a finger in his face. He clamped his lips shut. Farkas grumbled at him with narrowed eyes then turned away and walked towards the horses. When Aela followed, Vilkas' eyes flicked over to Skjor, and the Harbinger was staring at the door to Gallows Rock, the same disquieted look on his face as before.

"This really has you spooked," Vilkas said in disbelief, his twin's mood forgotten. The Harbinger truly believed that he would have died in there without Kodlak's warning. It wasn't as if Vilkas doubted the old man's visions; they had borne out more times than was comfortable. It was still eerie though.

Skjor nodded and muttered, "Yeah. Just a bit." He drew in a deep breath then lifted an eyebrow and smirked. "But I'm not dead yet, brother. I aim to keep it that way as long as possible."

"Aye."

His forebear slapped him on the shoulder, then the two men followed their packmates back to the horses.

They took their rest at Mixwater Mill that morning, the owner Gilfre and her workers glad for the illustrious company and a few tales in exchange for borrowing the warmth of the bunkhouse to sleep in for a few hours, then they were off again.

The way back to Whiterun was uneventful, though Skjor and Aela were cheerful and talked amiably as they rode. Farkas was quiet, but that wasn't unusual, and he didn't seem angry. Thoughtful, perhaps, if Farkas were capable of such a thing.

They reached Whiterun mid-morning of the next day, and while Vilkas was relieved as always to be home again, he didn't miss the anxious looks he was given. The other two men were as blood-spattered as he was, Aela having stayed out of the thick of it with her bow, but the wary expressions were directed at him and him alone. The anger started bubbling up, offense only adding to it, and he did his best to shove it back down and keep his eyes on the thin gray ponytail on the back of Skjor's head. Better to focus on wondering why the man didn't just cut the damn thing off than the treatment he was getting from people he had spent his entire life around. What in Oblivion did they think he was going to do, anyway?

"Hey Vilkas."

He stopped at the sound of his brother's voice, in front of Jorrvaskr's doors. Aela and Skjor went inside, all of them eager to get their armor off and bathe. Farkas nodded towards the side of the building, and Vilkas frowned and went with him, wondering what this was about. His twin's expression was as impassive as it had been for the last day. He could hear the sounds of training in the practice yard, and it was reassuring. At least Edric was keeping everyone to a proper routine.

Rounding the corner, he hitched his pack up on his shoulder and muttered, "I hope this is quick. I could use-"

Farkas grabbed the front of his armor and shoved him into the oak wall of the building, knocking the air out of him with a _whoof_.

"I told you," Farkas growled, his face close to his brother's, teeth bared. "I told you what would happen if you put hands on him like that. I fucking warned you."

Realization made his eyes widen. "It was before you two were ever together!" he protested. Gods help him, Farkas had been sitting on this for over a day? Two days?

"You think that makes it right?" Farkas shouted. Vilkas swallowed and looked away, flushing, and Farkas shook him and yelled, "You look me in the fucking eye, Vilkas! You put hands on him when he didn't want it, didn't you? All the way back at Dustman's Cairn, he said, so what the fuck did you do to him?"

His own anger rising, Vilkas spat, "He was supposed to keep his mouth shut. We had a deal and he went back on it." He knew the words were wrong, idiotic, offensive, and yet they came spilling out, and when Farkas made a sound of outrage and pulled his fist back Vilkas closed his eyes and waited for it, accepting it as his just dues. Stupid, stupid thing to say to someone about their lover, no matter who that lover was. He had his helmet on, but as furious as Farkas was it was going to hurt all the same, even if it broke his brother's hand. Farkas was as angry as he had ever seen him without the beastblood being an influence, and since he had just hunted the other night he knew it wasn't. This was purely human rage.

He was slammed against the wall again then Farkas let go with a shout of fury, and when he opened his eyes he saw his twin glaring in the direction of the practice yard. He glanced that direction, though he hardly needed to, to know who was standing there. As loudly as Farkas had been yelling, it was a blessing that all the whelps weren't there, though they no doubt knew better than to get involved.

Edric was wearing his steel armor, hair braided back from his face. His eyes were trained on his lover, and while his expression was calm the tension in his stance betrayed his nerves.

"You kept it to yourself," Farkas accused in a heated tone. "I knew you were acting weird that night, I fucking knew it."

Edric licked his lips then said, "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry you said anything," Farkas countered. "You told us when you were mad and now you wish you didn't. I _know_ you."

The Dragonborn slowly nodded. "Aye, this is true."

Farkas growled and yanked his helmet off then moved to throw it, then he huffed and shoved it under his arm. "You were protecting him, after what he...whatever the fuck he did."

"No, I was protecting you. I didn't want you to fight with your brother."

"I don't need you protecting me! Not like that!"

"I don't need you protecting me like this either. It happened and I handled it myself."

Farkas threw his arm out, making Vilkas cringe. "Well what else am I supposed to do! All the shit you've told me about people harassing you, then I find out my own brother did too? I can't help being pissed off about it. I can't help wanting to protect you." Edric frowned and his gaze shifted away to rest on the stone wall nearby. "You've dealt with everything on your own all these years, and this is just more of the same. It has to stop."

Edric's eyes went back to the bigger man. "It did stop, the other morning. I'm _trying_ to stop." There was a note of contrition in his voice, an expression of pleading on his lovely face, and predictably Farkas melted, closing the distance between the two of them.

"You're not alone anymore, sweetheart," Farkas murmured.

"Ah, _miingi_. I know. I do."

Farkas' back was turned, but Vilkas could hear the smile in his voice as his gloved hand came up to gently pet Edric's braids. "I like your hair like this," he stated. "It's pretty."

That was enough, more than enough, to send Vilkas lurching off the wall and away from the scene. Of course neither man noticed, too focused on each other to care about an extra body in the area. He didn't want to watch them petting each other, whispering endearments, and he sure as hell didn't want to see them kiss or embrace. No way he was subjecting himself to that. He was certainly not doing so after Farkas had nearly put him through the wall. It seemed impossible that the big idiot had been ready to kick Vilkas' ass one moment and less than a minute later was doting on his little treasure.

How sad and pathetic was it that he would have preferred his brother's anger, if only because it meant that Farkas' attention was focused on him?

He slammed the front door open then slammed it shut again, hurt the only thing keeping the beastblood from rearing up again. All the care and concern that his twin had given him at Gallows Rock had evaporated the moment they started home. That, of course, was the moment that Farkas' mind had started turning towards his mate again.

The hall itself was empty, blessedly empty, all the juniors out in the yard, and Tilma was probably in the kitchen, the smell of baking bread filling the air. He paused by the fire to warm himself, letting his pack slide to the floor, and indeed there was Tilma, peeking out of the kitchen, then she beamed at him and came out, wiping flour-dusted hands on her apron.

"You're back," she said in relief. "I thought I heard Skjor and Aela go through. Where's your brother?"

"Outside," he grumbled. "With his...Edric. He is with Edric."

"It's done, then? Everyone's all right?"

Vilkas nodded, not surprised by the question. She knew all the secrets of this hall as surely as the Harbinger or any member of the Circle. Kodlak had always kept her apprised of serious matters, and it was a given Skjor did as well. "For now. There are more targets that we will deal with in time, but we completed the job without any serious injuries."

"Oh good. I'm glad you all came back in one piece, dear." She motioned with her hand. "Come along then and get something to eat." Vilkas scowled, and she clucked her tongue. "Come now, none of that. I'll make you one of those stuffed rolls you like. The ones with ham and cheese. The rolls just came out of the oven a few minutes ago and I was making a fresh batch."

He could hardly say no to that, and Tilma had that certain look in her eyes that told him she wouldn't allow him to make excuses. He left his pack where it was and took his helmet off and left it there as well, taking off his gauntlets as he went. He was filthy, and to his relief his foster mother didn't ask for his help, instead seating him on a stool at the work counter and chatting at him while she fixed his meal. He gave monosyllabic answers but she didn't mind. She never had.

The irritability leached from him under her gentle influence, in the pleasant warmth of the kitchen with its wonderful smells all around. She set the stuffed roll in front of him and he mumbled his thanks and began to eat while she continued rolling the dough then setting it on the baking stone to rise. She began to hum, a song she had often sung to him and Farkas when they were little, though he had long ago forgotten the words, and he rested his forehead on his wrist and closed his eyes, exhaling a long, drawn-out sigh, enjoying the respite from his troubles. It was only a matter of minutes before Tilma would bring up...his mood, his brother, something, but this was nice for now.

"You're getting too old for this. Both of you are."

And there it was. "Is there an age limit on fighting with one's brother?" he asked wearily, though there was no force behind it. He might be a monster, but he would never be enough of a monster to get angry with Tilma.

"I meant the Companions. Doing these jobs."

Vilkas lifted his head, frowning at her in confusion. "Skjor is much older than either of us. So was Kodlak." It wasn't uncommon for Companions to leave the guild, after saving enough coin to buy a farm or some other gentler way of living out the rest of their lives, sometimes to marry; as often as not they kept working until a job killed them, or, occasionally, they were lucky enough or skilled enough to die of old age in a bed here, surrounded by shield-siblings, as Kodlak had. Of course Vilkas didn't want to do this until he died. Neither did Farkas.

Farkas however was lucky enough to have landed a rich lover. Neither he nor Edric ever had to work another day in their lives, which made the Dragonborn's presence in Jorrvaskr even more offensive. Sure, Vilkas had enough money put away to buy a place somewhere, fix it up a bit, start a small business, but what was the point when there was no one to share it with? Every plan he had made had involved Farkas in some way, and that was all blown to Oblivion now.

"Skjor likes the work," Tilma went on, her eyes still focused on her task. "It was a life he chose for himself. Kodlak too." Vilkas shook his head, frowning, and she glanced at him then pointed to his roll. He continued to eat as she said, "You boys...you weren't meant for this kind of life. You were forced into it when Jergen left you here."

He pleaded, "Tilma...please. I don't want to discuss this. I will never want to discuss this." Discuss _him_. Jergen. He had never allowed anyone to talk much about the man, and he wasn't going to start. His sorry excuse for a father was dead and gone, and very much not missed, at least by Vilkas.

"All I'm saying is that you should start thinking about the future. If the Circle...finishes things, hm? This life doesn't sit any better with you than it did with Jergen."

He stood, roll in hand, and said in a tight voice, "Thank you, Tilma. For the food."

She sighed and nodded, looking sad and resigned. It was a look she wore much too often. "Of course, dear."

He left the kitchen, tense, though the anger seemed to be leaving him alone for now. Any hint that he was anything like Jergen was usually guaranteed to set him off, but he was too tired and beaten down to summon up much strength of emotion. He had a full belly, and at the moment all he wanted was a bath and his bed and some solitude, though it wasn't as if solitude was in short supply these days. One glance across the hall from his room and he was well reminded of that.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Commissioned artwork by xxla-hainexx on tumblr. I'm just giddy-happy over how this turned out.


	36. Chapter 36

**Farkas**

Several contracts stuffed in his pocket, Farkas headed upstairs to go find his mate, to see a slim young Nord waiting by the front doors.

"Package for the...the uh…" The courier glanced around the interior of Jorrvaskr, clutching an oilcloth-covered bundle to his chest. "The Dragonborn," he finished, his voice coming out in a near squeak.

Farkas nodded and motioned for the man to follow. "He's up at the Skyforge," he answered. "C'mon."

The courier did so, looking pale under the road grime on his face. Farkas frankly didn't get it. Sure, lots of people were scared of Edric, now that they knew who he was, but he still couldn't figure out _why_. Edric had made a career out of helping people. He'd also made a career out of being mysterious and standoffish, so Farkas got that, but the Companion didn't get the outright fear that he saw around his lover. They seemed more scared of him now that they had seen his face. It was such a sweet face too, though Farkas supposed it usually had a not very pleasant expression on it out in public. There were the scars too, and knowing how they got there, but that wasn't Edric's fault. Well, okay, maybe they were, since he'd left them there on purpose, but Farkas and Vilkas were the only two people who knew that.

They went up the stone steps to the smithy, and Farkas' face split into a grin at what he saw there. There stood Edric in full Skyforge steel wolf armor, arms out to his sides as Eorlund and Avulstein adjusted the buckles and straps. There were a number of sets in storage, and there had been plenty of members of the Circle who hadn't been Nords, so it was pretty obvious that they would be able to find some that fit, and they had.

"Wow," Farkas breathed. The armor looked good on his man. Really good. Edric saw his look and smirked, and _blushed_ , blessed Mara. Not much, but the apples of his cheeks turned just a little bit pink, and damn if it wasn't the cutest thing Farkas had ever seen.

Eorlund stood back and looked the Dragonborn over then circled his finger. Edric turned in a slow circle and the master smith grunted. "This set is serviceable," he stated. "The leather's still in good shape, just needs conditioning to soften it up. Could replace it, but that'll take time."

"No need," Edric agreed. "This will more than do." He looked past the smith to the courier, who stood behind Farkas, watching with big eyes, and when he realized he had Edric's attention he swallowed and held out the package.

"Delivery for you, m'lord," he quavered. The Dragonborn approached him and he held it out further, his hand trembling slightly. Edric took it, and the man whispered, "I ah...thirty septims. Sir."

"Right. Wait for me at Breezehome and you'll be paid." The courier nodded, rubbing his fist as he stared at Edric. The Dragonborn frowned, a questioning look on his face. "What is it?"

"I...I saw you once, m'lord," he said in a faint voice. "Outside Old Hroldan two years ago, fighting a dragon. Was on my way for a visit, heard the roaring and hid in the brush. My older brother lives in the town, with his family. Got a wife and three little 'uns. All of 'em could've died or...or been _eaten_. If you hadn't been there."

"Ah."

"What I'm saying is...you've got my gratitude, m'lord. Me and my family." He shook his head, eyes wide. "Saw you breathe _fire_ , I did, and you wore a cloak of lightning. You were the hand of Kyne and the voice of Talos. I saw you leap onto the dragon's neck and shove a sword of ebony through the base of its skull. I would have sworn I dreamt it, but we all saw it."

Edric's expression slipped into that mask of neutrality that Farkas knew so well, the one that hid discomfort. The Dragonborn inclined his head and stated, "I'm glad to be of service, kinsman. Give my regards to your family."

The young man smiled and dipped his head. "I will, m'lord, when next I see 'em. They'll be fit to be tied." He rubbed his head in a self-conscious motion. "So...been awhile since you fought a dragon?"

"Four months, maybe. On Solstheim. Let's hope that lasts a bit longer."

The courier chuckled. "Aye, m'lord. Didn't look too fun from where I was standing." He seemed ready to say more, but Farkas cleared his throat. "Ah. Aye." He bowed then took off at a sprint, the only speed the messengers ever seemed to move at.

 _Breathed fire_. Holy shit. Farkas tried to picture the courier's words in his mind's eye, and quickly decided it was better not to try when his man was around. He could feel Edric's eyes on him, waiting. Well he'd have to keep waiting, because Farkas wasn't about to give him any reason to feel bad, or weird, or whatever Edric was looking for. They were going out on the road together soon, and Edric had promised to not hold back, so Farkas was going to be seeing the shouting and the magic up close, because he'd be damned if he was going to let Edric stifle himself and risk getting hurt or killed.

Farkas looked his mate over with a broad smile, saying, "That armor looks good on you. How's it feel?"

The flat expression on Edric's face slipped away, and he frowned and rotated his shoulders. "Good," he said with a nod. "Finest steel in Tamriel, and it shows."

Eorlund looked as pleased as he ever did, even if the man never cracked a smile. "That it is," the master smith agreed. He tugged on a buckle at the Dragonborn's left side. "The armor will be ready tomorrow. Get familiar with it. The straps will break away if you don't have time to get it off properly. If it happens, it happens, and we'll fix it, but it isn't something you're going to want to have to explain to outsiders, get me?

"Aye, that I do. Don't see that happening, though."

The smith grunted in satisfaction. "Good to hear, Dragonborn. Get that off and we'll get it ready. Come back tomorrow after lunch."

"Aye. Thank you."

Farkas took the bundle from his lover then stood back and let the smiths strip off the armor. He hadn't been sure that Avulstein knew the Circle's secret, but this clinched it. The younger Gray-Mane seemed unconcerned by their talk, so he had to have known for a while now.

As they walked back to the mead hall, Edric took the package back from him. As he unwrapped it he stated, "This got here more quickly than I thought it would." He pulled off the wrapper and handed it to Farkas.

"A book?" He folded the oilcloth and glanced at the leather cover. It was black, the title indecipherable to him. A swirling green design sat above the title, three circles joined together. "A magic book?" He had seen magical books before, and even though they were worth money he had always avoided touching them. His father had drilled into him and Vilkas both how dangerous they could be. He doubted the danger was as great as Jergen had said, especially to him with his inability to read. It had been Vilkas that had gotten in the most trouble. Books had always been Vilkas' weakness, even as a kid. He had gotten caught once, just once, with a magic book, and that had been a very bad day.

Edric glanced up in surprise then smiled at him, seeing he was honestly curious. "It is. A book _about_ magic, anyway. A very specific book that I asked for." He flipped it open and thumbed through it, not really reading any of the pages. "I asked the curator of the Arcanaeum, the library at the College of Winterhold, to find me a book on Illusion magic, specifically illusions that can change one's appearance."

"Ohhh. Got it." He remembered talking about that a few weeks ago, the day that Vilkas had nearly killed Edric in the training yard. He felt a small swell of pride that his lover had actually taken his suggestion seriously, let alone had remembered and taken the time to write to the mages about it.

"I'm going to have to come clean with Mummy," the smaller man sighed. "About being _Dovahkiin_. I hate being out in the open. Stuff like with the courier...ugh. But I...appreciate it, you know? It meant something to him. His kin were safe. Old Hroldan is a tiny village. They don't even have Hold guards."

"Yeah." The village was smaller even than Riverwood, with just a few families and the old inn, which was famous as the place that Talos slept after some big battle or something. The guy had probably slept all over Skyrim, so Farkas wasn't sure why that was a big deal.

"As much as I hate everyone knowing who I am, I hate sneaking around even more. I hate the convoluted bullshit I had to go through to get anything done, let alone go visit her. My mother, I mean. And I'm due. I want her to meet you. I want…" He paused at the low stone wall at the front of Jorrvaskr and tucked the book under his arm. "I want her to know that I have someone. That things are better for me. Or getting there."

Farkas petted his hair, touched. His mate hadn't said anything recently about his mother, not since the day Vilkas had hurt him, but it was sweet that he still wanted Farkas to meet her. "You told me once that she knew about Ralof."

Edric gave a slight nod, turning his gaze downward, towards the Gildergreen. Jenssen was there, kneeling at the base of the sapling to weed around it, keeping any growth from getting too near the young tree. "We visited her a few times," he murmured. "She liked him. Everyone did." He snorted a soft laugh, his expression fond but touched with grief. "He was like you, that way."

Well that hurt to hear. It was sweet, but it hurt. He continued his petting as he asked, "Was she at your wedding?" It was kind of a scary question to ask. He'd avoided most questions about Ralof, and that relationship, the way he avoided walking on the surface of frozen ponds. But Edric was right that things were getting better for him, and maybe talking about it now wouldn't hurt so much for him. At least he was talking, real talking, not that thing he did where he bottled everything up until the pressure grew too much and the words spilled out in a rush.

"No, she was still living in Dawnstar at the time. No one was at the, ah, ceremony, other than Maramal and his wife. Mummy knew I was trying to keep a low profile, since I was technically a deserter. She wasn't upset that she wasn't there. Well, she wished she had been. She didn't…" He rubbed his chin. "She didn't think I would ever marry. Having too much fun, you know?"

Farkas huffed a laugh. "Yeah." Not all that long ago it hadn't been real comfortable for him to think about all the former lovers Edric must have had, and that was something he wasn't proud of. No one had cause to fuss over who someone used to sleep with, and gods knew Farkas himself had been around and around. Fussing about it now would've been even more ridiculous, considering what was happening between them. Every day they spent together, every time they made love, every hour they spent touching and talking, every intimacy drew the bond tighter around them. Edric's first hunt had been only a week ago, and the Circle back from Gallows Rock three days now, and every day it seemed stronger. More real.

A smile touching his lips, Edric looked up at him from under his lashes. "Whatever are you thinking, love?" Farkas chuckled and the hand in his hair slid under to rub his neck. "Oh."

"Yeah."

Edric moved closer, leaning in to gently bump against Farkas. "Good thoughts."

"Sure are." He put his other arm around his man's shoulders and felt Edric's free hand bunch in his shirt, his thumb rubbing across Farkas' ribs. "I traded some jobs with Aela. She said they were in Hjaalmarch or on the way to it." He couldn't read the contracts, but that had never been a problem; he had always taken at least one of the juniors with him, and he had a good memory regardless.

"Let me go change and we'll take a look." Edric placed a kiss on the underside of Farkas' jaw then pulled away.

He followed his lover downstairs to their quarters, the hall empty at this time of day other than Tilma doing her usual routine. Aela and Skjor were out scouting new Silver Hand targets; Vilkas was in the training yard, hopefully not acting weird and upsetting the whelps. Skjor had already said it was fine if Farkas and Edric did some jobs together while they were fulfilling their promise to Arcadia, since he and Aela were due back tomorrow. No one wanted to leave Vilkas alone to take care of Jorrvaskr, without at least one other pack member to keep him in check. It was sad, but for now his beast couldn't be trusted.

Edric stripped off his arming doublet then pulled on training leather while Farkas sat down on the bed and laid out the contracts. One had a Falkreath stamp on it, a buck's head in purple ink, a job that came directly from Jarl Dengeir's people. Kind of out of their way, but doable if it was close to the lake. Aela had said this was the best she could do, so he couldn't exactly be picky about it, and the other two jobs had the Hjaalmarch stamp on them. He really, really hoped that those weren't out in the marsh. He and Edric had to go out there anyway, to gather ingredients for Arcadia, but he didn't want to try to manage both with soggy boots.

Dressed, his mate came close and Farkas pulled him down to sit in front of him. "All right then, let's see what we've got," Edric murmured. He picked up the one with the Falkreath stamp. "Bannermist Tower. Doesn't sound familiar."

He motioned behind them and Farkas leaned back to get the scroll case that held Edric's map, one of the Dragonborn's most precious possessions. Edric never went anywhere without it, and while they were home it sat on his side table, within easy reach. He was still trying to sort out the matter of picking up his caches, something Farkas couldn't help him with. Vilkas was good with that sort of thing, but needless to say that help wasn't welcome.

Edric rolled out his map and traced his finger through Falkreath Hold, along the road that ran along the southern shore. "Close to Half-Moon Mill. Surprising there's bandits there. The tower isn't close to the road."

"Huh," Farkas grunted. His mate looked at the other two jobs then placed his hand on the map, setting his thumb on the Falkreath job then stretching his forefinger out to Whiterun, then the other direction, then he changed position again. Farkas wrapped his arms around Edric's waist as he asked, "What're you doing?"

"Measuring. Used to have a length of leather thong that I used with mileposts on it, scaled to the map. Lost that somewhere a few years ago. Easier just to use my hand." He ran a finger along his thumb until it hit the crease. "That's roughly ten miles on this map. Straight between the tip of my thumb and fingertip, about thirty miles. I've got most distances down, up here," he said as he tapped his temple, "but I want to get a better idea of how long we'll be gone." He sucked a breath in between his teeth as he mapped out several points on the map. "About a week. You're sure that won't be a problem?"

"Nah. Skjor said it was fine. He uh, doesn't want you going out this soon without me or Aela. Or with any of the juniors."

"Hm."

"It's not because it's you, sweetheart. It was the same with me and Vilkas, and Aela." Edric nodded, relaxing back against Farkas, who asked, "What are the other two jobs?"

"Robber's Gorge, again. Forebears' Holdout. We can hit those on the way to Morthal, no problem. Jarl Sorli wants Robber's Gorge completely taken down. Burned to the ground. Can't blame her."

Farkas couldn't either. Vilkas had just cleaned the place out not that long ago, during that ill-fated trip when he had come back half dead. It was too big a job for one Companion, even a member of the Circle, but Vilkas was as skilled as Skjor, if less experienced. Robber's Gorge never stayed empty long, straddling the road as it did, same as most places like that. It kept the Companions in business. Still, the encampment was all timber and tents and wouldn't be hard to burn down, especially with magic.

Tracing different paths along the roadways, Edric murmured, "I was wondering...could we stop in Riverwood on the way home?"

"Yeah, of course." He refrained from asking why, for now. There were only two reasons why Edric would want to go there, and both were understandable, and maybe it would be easier this time.

"The most efficient way to do this is to cut straight across the plains. Take the road to Fort Greymoor and keep going. I'd like to swing by the giant camp anyway, get more sleeping tree sap. There's a pond just north of there that we could camp at, near that big rocky hill. Maybe hunt, if you're up for it."

"Sure, honey." He wasn't too thrilled about his lover sneaking into a giant's camp, but it sounded as if Edric had done it frequently over the years. He wouldn't mind getting a better look at the weird magical tree, something he had only seen from a distance, but he wasn't going anywhere near there, so the distance would have to do. Another hunt sounded good though, and it was a relief that Edric wanted to go out again.

"I'm going to need you to stop me," he muttered. "If I get rough with you again." Farkas sighed and kissed the side of his head. "I'm serious about this." His tone was grave, and his body held just a bit of tension in it. Of course he was afraid of it happening again, just as Farkas had been the first couple times he had shifted in front of the other man.

"You didn't hurt me. It was kind of, uh...I kind of liked it. _But_ ," he added, feeling the tension increase, "if you don't like it then okay. I promise I'll stop you." Or try to, but he wasn't going to say that. While they were in wolf form there wasn't much they could do about nature having its way with both of them, but once Farkas turned back he was going to have to get stern with Edric and make him back off. He might even have to _yell_ at him, and by the Nine he hated doing that. But if that was what his beloved wanted, then that was what he would get, and if things still got out of hand he would just have Edric heal him after. His mate didn't ask for much, so when he wanted something enough to say so it was a big deal.

Edric twisted around to kiss the bigger man's cheek. "Ah, thank you _miingi_." He turned back to his map, tapping Rorikstead. Back to business. "I should pay my respects to Rorik when we pass through. See if he needs anything. I saw him only last week, but it would be rude not to."

"Sure. No problem." He was sure that Thanes and those sorts of people had all sorts of rules about what was polite or not.

"I also have to stop at the fort. Vignar would want me to check in on them."

"Right." More Thane things. That was fine.

"I have a housecarl in Morthal. Valdimar. With any luck he won't be around when we pick up the pay for the jobs." Edric rolled up the map. "He's not good at taking no for an answer," he muttered, sliding the map into its protective case. "If he finds out I'm with the Companions, and that I can no longer heal magically, no force on Nirn is going to keep that man from following us back here short of a direct order from me to stay put."

"He probably already knows you're with the Companions. Everybody does."

"Ah. True." He tossed the scroll case aside on the bed then leaned back against Farkas, who wrapped his arms around him. Edric began petting the dark hair there. "But he _will_ follow me if he finds out I can't heal. He's really fucking tenacious. I try to avoid him whenever I pass through Morthal, but he spends most of his time in the Jarl's longhouse."

"I can go in and collect the pay," Farkas offered. He wasn't sure what tenacious meant exactly, but he got the idea. The thing was, Farkas did kind of wish that Edric had a housecarl. When he was doing jobs with the Companions then he would have someone else with him, but what about when he was acting as Thane? It really wasn't proper for the Companions to go with him then, unless it was for pay, and even then it just felt...weird. Farkas would do whatever his mate asked, but he would have to do it on his own, not acting as a Companion or member of the Circle, and he wouldn't always be around. This trip they were taking wasn't a regular thing that was going to happen. It couldn't with the responsibilities they had.

Two mornings later and they were on the road. It felt good to be going somewhere together, just the two of them, and Farkas couldn't stop smiling at the sight of his mate in Skyforge steel. He couldn't see much of Edric's face in the helmet, but that didn't matter.

He had Stormfang across his back, and he'd had Eorlund take a look at it while picking up his armor. The old smith had inspected it carefully, pronounced it 'good enough', and handed it back. Avulstein had stared goggle-eyed at his father then turned the same look on the Dragonborn, who had very deliberately ignored it. Farkas knew that Edric was a good smith, that he had to be in order to know how to work ebony, but he had no idea where his mate had picked up that knowledge. He had to assume the Legion, like nearly everything else Edric knew; ten years was a long time to spend doing anything, and it wasn't hard to imagine Edric seeking out that kind of training, as easily bored as he got. Farkas knew armor, and he felt pretty confident taking care of his own and making small repairs, but he was no smith.

Edric glanced over at him and smiled when he saw Farkas looking at him, and when the bigger man's grin widened he chuckled and looked back to the road ahead.

"You look real good in that," Farkas stated.

"I'm glad you like it." He rotated his shoulders and moved around a bit. "I've got pretty high standards when it comes to armor, and I fully admit the quality is outstanding. I wasn't just being diplomatic when I said it was the best steel in Tamriel. I do prefer a heavier armor, but this is comfortable. I don't think I could improve on it any."

Farkas' smile fell away and he breathed, "Gods honey, don't even try. Eorlund would...I don't know what he would do, but he'd be pissed." The master smith would know that the armor had been tinkered with, and he wouldn't tolerate that even from the Dragonborn. The young man might be an expert smith, but he wasn't anywhere near Eorlund's level of skill, and Eorlund would know that someone had messed with his work.

Edric laughed and replied, "I know better, believe me. The armor's fine as it is."

"Don't scare me like that," Farkas muttered. Eorlund had a temper and the Companions relied on him heavily. It would take years for Avulstein to reach his father's level of skill, and if you pissed off the older Gray-Mane it was likely the younger one would follow. It just didn't pay to go there even in thought. Edric laughed again, not seeming to take the matter as seriously as he should. Why would he? He was wearing the armor because it was expected of him, not because he actually wanted to. He had a suit of fancy ebony plate stored in Breezehome that was way stronger than Skyforge steel, but because he was a member of the Circle people would expect to see him in the wolf armor. It was good though that it met the Dragonborn's standards.

"Pauldrons are a little big though," he said in an uncertain tone. "And the skirt…" He clucked his tongue. "I don't know."

Farkas looked at him in alarm, and when he saw the slight quirk to his lover's mouth he let out a sputtering laugh. "Brat." His mate snickered in response. It was good seeing him so happy, hearing him joke around and tease. Being away from Jorrvaskr helped, though Vilkas had been pretty good since they had come back from Gallows Rock, keeping to himself, keeping his eyes off Edric when Farkas was around. Farkas hoped that was the case the rest of the time too. He still hadn't brought up what exactly Vilkas had done in Dustman's Cairn, and at this point he didn't want to know. It would only upset Edric, and in the end it was over and done.

Still, it was hard to stay too mad at his twin for...whatever it was he had done, sniffing after Edric or putting hands on him or whatever. Sure, it was still wrong, but Farkas had found the Dragonborn hard to resist from the start, and that was with his wolf under control. Vilkas' hadn't been under control for a long time.

Vilkas was still going to get an ass kicking if he harassed Edric again, though. That wasn't negotiable.

Edric went on, "I've been thinking about having Eorlund take a look at some dragon remains. Bones and scales. Have you ever had the chance to really look at them?"

"Just the one Vilkas has. From that time you fought a dragon together outside Rorikstead." Edric nodded in remembrance. "It felt different from what I thought it would. Really hard, kind of made a ringing sound when you tap on it." Edric nodded again, and Farkas asked in surprise, "Are you thinking it can be forged? Like metal?"

"It's possible. I've tried messing with the remains in a forge, but I don't have the expertise. I always meant to have Oengul in Windhelm take a look but never found the time." He shifted in the saddle then reached down to pat the horse's neck. "Think I'll take some up to Eorlund when we get back, see what he can do with them."

That would be really interesting, seeing if the master smith could make something out of parts of a dead dragon. He was the best smith in Skyrim, regardless of what Oengul War-Anvil thought, so if anyone could forge dragon remains it would be Eorlund.

They approached Fort Greymoor at lunchtime, and Farkas hung back in the courtyard as Edric was taken on a tour along the battlements by the commander of the small unit of Whiterun soldiers stationed there. He had been expecting it, since Edric had warned him, but it still felt kind of weird, seeing how nervous the commander was and how her men hung back and watched the Dragonborn's every move. Edric filled his voice with the thu'um at times like this and it always had the effect the young man intended, keeping most people back. Respectful. A little afraid. Still, the commanding officer was a brave lass, addressing him with just the right amount of courtesy, offering to take him on a tour of the walls and asking his opinion on the further repairs to the fortifications that she wanted to make. Edric seemed satisfied and motioned for her to lead the way.

"Companion…you're Farkas, right?"

The Companion looked next to him and one of the soldiers had come up to him, a few of his fellows hanging back watching. There was something weird about the whole thing, maybe the way they held themselves or the nervous smell that came off them, but it was annoying for some reason he couldn't put his finger on. Farkas frowned at the guy and grunted, "Yeah?"

"You and the Dragonborn," he murmured, keeping one eye on Edric as he walked the ramparts.

"Me and him what?"

"You're, you know, together?"

His frown deepened into a scowl. "Yeah, so?"

The man held his hands up. "Nothing! Just…curious. We were just wondering if it was true, that's all."

"Yeah, it is," Farkas stated, turning fully around to face the guy, who leaned back a little, dark blue eyes blinking nervously.

"Was he really married to Ralof of Riverwood?" one of the soldiers behind him piped up, a wiry Breton fellow. "I heard people say that when he stormed into Ulfric's palace, he said they were married. My cousin lives in Whiterun city. She said he's…" He motioned to his face. "Y'know. Pretty-"

Farkas took a step towards him and the men fell back. "He's _handsome_ ," he stressed. "Use that word again and your face is gonna meet my fist. Hard."

"I don't mean any offense!"

"Then don't give any."

A Bosmer soldier said, "It's just that he was ruined. The guards inside Ulfric's palace said he hardly had a face at all. The whole thing was burned off. Right eye gone and everything. But now he's fine. How?"

"A special healer," Farkas stated in a gravelly voice, "and it cost a shit ton of gold, and she's gone now, and I'm done with talking."

The group of men backed away as the first soldier said, "Yeah, okay Companion. No harm meant, all right?"

"Yeah. Sure." They beat a hasty retreat and he focused on the horses to keep from growling. Maybe the soldiers hadn't meant any harm, but he didn't really like their line of questioning, and Edric really wouldn't. He was an extremely private person and wouldn't take kindly to anyone asking about his dead husband or using the P word. Farkas was the only one who got to use that, and even then he tried not to and it usually just slipped out.

Well, this sort of thing had to happen sooner or later. Farkas knew he had to get better at handling that kind of talk, but he wasn't good with words, and he wasn't smart. He felt his scowl return along with an unwelcome twinge of embarrassment at the thought of just how poorly he had just handled the situation. It wouldn't be the last time either. He was the Dragonborn's lover, a Thane's partner, the man Edric intended to marry someday, and here he was unable to handle a bunch of soldiers asking simple questions.

Glad for the shelter of his helmet, he looked up at his mate with a heavy heart. Edric had taken off his own helmet, and even with the cloudy weather it was like a beam of sunshine was on him. A breeze ruffled his hair, even with it being kind of sweaty from the helmet. He said that he had lost Kynareth's grace, but Farkas couldn't tell.

Edric listened attentively to the fort commander, a Nord woman who had to be several years younger than the Dragonborn, but she had a certain bearing to her, the same kind Edric had, and Skjor had, Vignar too. Former Legion soldier, maybe. If so, it was probably the reason she had been put in command here at such a young age.

Edric nodded slowly and smiled then clapped her on the shoulder and motioned to several points around them, seeming to be explaining something to her as they continued to walk. He looked confident, beautiful, and gods knew he was smart, and Farkas wondered how he could ever be a proper husband to someone like that. He knew he was handsome, it was hard not to know that, but he knew he wasn't smart. He couldn't even read, and sure, that didn't have anything at all to do with not being smart, but it was the not smart part that was the problem here. He had no idea at all how he was going to avoid embarrassing his mate in the future.

They ate lunch with the soldiers, during which Farkas kept his mouth shut other than a few single-word answers and grunts. He could feel Edric's eyes on him, and he avoided meeting them so he couldn't be read, an action that made him feel shitty on top of everything else. As if his lover wasn't going to guess he was in a bad mood anyway. Edric gave nothing away, his expression perfectly controlled, making quiet conversation with the commander and her men.

The conversation turned to war, and if it was coming next year, as everyone thought it was, and Farkas nearly excused himself to go wait with the horses. He would have, but this was his mate's first trip outside their home territory since taking the beastblood and he shouldn't be left alone. Plus it would've looked bad. He didn't know anything about war, and sure as hell didn't care about war, other than how it was going to take his man away from him, maybe for years, but he couldn't leave his man's side either.

Then one of the soldiers came by with bottles of mead and set one down in front of Edric with a slight bow, before passing others around the table.

 _Shit_ , Farkas thought with worry, seeing his mate's fist clench on his leg under the table. The Companion froze for a few seconds, unsure of what to do, and one glance at Edric's face saw him trying not to look at the bottle, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. The smell of distress started winding through the air, and that made him finally move, sweeping both bottles off the table to hand them back.

"No thanks," he muttered, though he tried to soften his words with a brief smile. "We don't drink."

The soldier opened his mouth to protest, but the commander said with a wave of her hand, "Go on. The Companion says they don't drink, then they don't drink." She looked at her men who were about to uncork their own. "And for now, neither do we," she added, setting her own bottle out of sight on the floor. The others followed suit, though it was obvious they were confused and some of them annoyed. She leaned back in her chair and laced her hands on her stomach. "So then, _Dovahkiin_ , you were saying? How many men do you think Whiterun can muster?"

Farkas relaxed again, keeping the relief and gratitude off his face. The commander had read the situation the way Vignar hadn't last week, or hadn't tried hard enough to. He felt a light touch along the side of his thigh and he moved his hand over to give Edric's a gentle, quick squeeze. This, he could do. He couldn't do much else, but he could help his man stay sober.

Still, his unhappiness with himself lingered as he wrestled with how he was going to manage being a Thane's husband. The _Dragonborn's_ husband, for fuck's sake. Edric was the most famous person in Tamriel short of the Emperor, or at least Farkas thought so, and how was he going to stand at the side of someone like that and not look stupid? Not drag him down?

They took their leave of the fort, riding around it to the south and heading west out over the plains. They guided their horses around the occasional rock outcropping or small pond, both men silent. The weather was holding, for now, but it could rain at just about any point this time of year, and the light chill was welcome with as stressed as Farkas felt. It wasn't until they were nearing the large rocky hill that dominated the plains that Edric finally spoke.

"You don't need to give up booze for me."

Farkas sighed, "Yeah I do. I'm not going to drink when you can't. Especially when you're around."

There was no answer to that, and that was fine. He had been sure that Edric had noticed that Farkas had stopped drinking too, but maybe it just hadn't come to him before now. He wasn't about to drink around his newly-sober lover and make things harder for him, and he sure as hell wasn't about to have alcohol on his breath where Edric could smell it, and his mate's sense of smell was way stronger now. Kissing him after having a drink was definitely out of the question. So he wasn't drinking. Not until Edric left for war. It was a pretty small thing to give up considering the withdrawal his lover had gone through.

The silence wasn't a very comfortable one, so Farkas said, "It was good of her though. The commander."

"Aye, it was." Edric drew in a long breath through his nose then blew it out. "She's smart. Capable. Has good ideas, but some of her people aren't respecting her as they should, because of her age. That should stop being a problem now. I made my support of her clear."

"That's good."

It grew quiet again, and it stayed that way as they headed towards the pond Edric knew of. They stayed well away from the giant camp, the bonfire lighting up the area. Giants were always to be avoided, unless one had grown aggressive and was attacking people. It happened sometimes, and then the Companions were called on to deal with it, as they had been doing the day Edric had first come to Whiterun over four years ago. It was still strange to think about it, that the young man with his face half covered who had laughed at the thought of joining the Companions was the same man who was at his side now, the man he was going to marry someday.

They reached the pond in late afternoon, and in the far distance the light of the bonfire could still be seen, glowing above the rocks that lay between the giants' camp and theirs. Farkas grimaced and said, "I don't feel good about hunting so close to the giants." The creatures wouldn't leave the comfort of their fire at night and kept their mammoths close by, but it still made him nervous to be this close; there were signs around the water that this was used by both the giants and their small herd as a drinking hole. It also seemed a bad idea to change in sight of their camp. There were the horses to think about, too. They would panic if they sensed anything like that going on around them.

"We don't have to hunt, love," Edric murmured.

"But we will. Soon. You've seen how I get if I go too long. It'll happen to you too. There isn't gonna to be a better place for a while."

The Dragonborn shrugged as he began laying out their tent. "Then we leave the horses here and go further out onto the plains."

Farkas huffed and asked, "How?" He knew it came out too sharp, and the way Edric paused for just a few seconds with his back to him made his heart skip a beat. His mate then continued setting up the tent, and he rubbed his hand over his face, feeling an irritated growl bubbling up. He was mad at himself, not his lover, but there were times when Edric's cool, rational way of dealing with things rubbed him the wrong way, and this was one of those times, and it wasn't Edric's fault. It was Farkas' for being in a mood to begin with.

"I'll summon Arvak and ride us further out," the younger man replied, his tone calm. "If you don't mind sitting on the back of a flaming skeletal horse." He began raising one of the tent poles and asked, "Something on your mind, Farkas?"

The Companion blinked, motionless, holding his pack in his hands. Edric never said his name like that. Not with that no-nonsense tone. He said it breathlessly when they were having sex, or sweetly when they were just sitting together, or to get his attention. But never like that. Farkas knew that Edric knew something was wrong. Maybe he hadn't met Farkas' eyes to know it, but he was good at reading people's other signs.

When Edric didn't press, Farkas ventured, "I...uh, I've been thinking. About Ralof. What he was like." It wasn't a lie, not really. Once again Edric froze for a long moment, and Farkas said in a rush, "But we don't have to talk about it. About him. I know it still hurts." It was always going to hurt, even years from now, though Farkas hoped that the pain was starting to lose its edges.

"It does," Edric agreed as he returned to what he was doing, "but that doesn't mean I can't talk about him." His motions slowed. "What do you want to know?"

"Just...what he was like. You said the other day that everyone liked him."

With a nod Edric murmured, "Aye, they did. He was...charming. I never have been, but he was. Sunny. Blond and cheerful. Good sense of humor. Sunny's what he was." He stilled for a few seconds then shook himself and went on, "He was sweet. Humble, but confident. Traditional, but open-minded. Didn't complain when he saw me using magic. Didn't judge anyone before he got to know them. And he was handsome. Like I said the other day, he was like you in some ways. Good ways."

"Was he smart?" He couldn't help asking. He had to ask. He had to know.

Edric snorted. "He was a smart _ass_ ," he replied, his tone full of sad amusement. "He was funny. Clever, good with people. His men liked him, in addition to respecting him. He had a good head on his shoulders." He shrugged. "So yes, I suppose he was."

"Yeah," Farkas muttered. Well of course Ralof had been smart. It was a given that Ralof would have handled the business in Fort Greymoor better. Hell, he would have walked the battlements with Edric, instead of hanging back with the horses trying to not draw attention to himself. Farkas remembered the two of them walking the city together, after they had taken Whiterun. Ralof would've been a good match for a Thane, for the Dragonborn, a good husband to Edric given time, and a better match than Farkas could be. But then Ralof was dead, and Farkas wasn't, and Edric had made the choice to be with him, a real choice, not just letting physical attraction carry him away. But then maybe there could've been a better choice out there, if Farkas had let him be. If Farkas had been just a friend, instead of letting his own wants push things to the point of Edric giving in.

He hadn't realized he was still standing there, clutching his pack and stewing, until his mate was in front of him and taking the pack out of his hands to set it aside.

"What's this about, _miingi?_ " Edric asked, his tone gentle.

"I don't know," Farkas mumbled. He looked off towards the orange glow half a mile away. He should've left the matter alone. He wasn't Vilkas, who picked at things until they bled. He was better than that. He was the _nice_ twin. He shouldn't be standing here grumping and being difficult.

Edric countered, "I think you do, and you just don't want to say it." The bigger man grunted, his lips pursed, scowling. "Well, I'm not going to force you," Edric sighed, "but I wish you would tell me."

"I'm stupid, that's what this is about," he growled.

"Whaaat," his mate breathed, body stiffening as his eyes widened, "the fuck did you just say?"

"You heard me."

Edric said in a hurt, angry tone, "Yeah, I heard you, and I can't believe those words just came out of your mouth."

Fists clenched, Farkas stated in a heated tone, "I'm dumb, and we both know I'm dumb, and I know you said at the start that you were gonna cuff me upside the head the next time I said it, so just go ahead and do it."

Edric put the heels of his hands to his temples and cried in a thu'um-touched voice, "I would never lay hands on you that way! What the fuck, Farkas! Fuck!" He spun away and stomped off, only getting a few feet before spinning back and poking his finger into Farkas' breastplate. "You are _not_ stupid, and I want to know what the fuck brought this on. Did someone say something to you?" He didn't give his man a chance to answer, straightening up as he rumbled in a suspicious tone, "It was at the fort, wasn't it. Did someone say something at the fort?"

"No-"

"This started at the fort," Edric insisted. "If someone said something to you I want to know!"

He could just imagine Edric riding back to the fort in a righteous fury, on a weird fucking flaming horse at that, terrifying everyone there, his voice shaking the stones as he tried to figure out who had hurt his lover's feelings. The thought was awful. "No one said anything like that to me. They didn't have to. Some soldiers asked me questions about you and I didn't know how to answer. That was it." His mate stared up at him with a wounded expression, wounded for Farkas' sake, he knew that. His shoulders slumped as he closed his eyes and muttered, "Sorry."

"I can't believe…" Edric trailed off into a huff. " _Miingi_ , why?"

He knew this was the wrong thing to say, and that Edric wasn't going to take it well, but it was the truth. "I don't want to embarrass you," he grumbled. "The Dragonborn's big dumb husband. Thane Edric's slow husband." His man's eyes turned all big and shiny, his full lower lip inching its way out, and Farkas covered his eyes and said in dismay, "Ah fuck, I'm sorry. God damn it, I'm-" _So stupid_. He couldn't stand Edric looking at him like that, especially when he was the cause, but hadn't his lover wanted him to be honest? He was just being honest.

"I will never forgive," Edric said in slow, measured words, his voice resonating and heartbroken. "As long as I live, I'll never forgive the people who drilled that into your head. Or the people who didn't defend you when others were doing it. Never."

Farkas let his hands fall and stressed, "I'm not smart, Edie. I can't read-"

"That has shit all to do with anything!"

"I know! But it doesn't change the fact that I'm not smart!" Edric laced his hands together on the back of his neck as he looked up at the sky in frustration, and Farkas insisted, "You know I'm not! I'm going to embarrass you one of these days, I just know I am." He kept remembering that dinner with Vignar and Rorik, how he'd had to sit there silently with nothing to add, dying of boredom. Remembering the scene at the fort. Remembering all the times Edric had explained things patiently to him. Remembering all the many, many times in his life that things had gone over his head, and he'd sat silent rather than say something and look dumber than he already did.

His mate blew out a long breath then let his hands fall, and Farkas went on in a sullen mutter, "I'm sorry. I know you're not embarrassed of me, I know that. You're better than that." Edric huffed and glared up at him in a pout, still upset. Farkas didn't know what else to say. Probably better to not say anything more. He looked down at his hands, wishing that he'd at least had the brains not to mention the part about Edric being embarrassed. Because Edric _was_ better than that, and he wouldn't be embarrassed. People for the most part treated Farkas with respect, as a member of the Circle, but it wasn't other people who were the problem. It was Farkas, and how he felt about himself right now, and how he felt wasn't good, and he didn't know how to stop it.

Edric put a hand on his hip and rubbed his forehead with the other, saying, "Yeah. Okay." He held still for a moment, as if debating what to say. He finally said, "You are _not stupid_. No, you're not the smartest guy I know, I totally admit that, but you sure as hell aren't dumb. Your brother is damn smart, but it doesn't stop him from saying and doing stupid shit. _Frequently_."

Well that was sure true. In some way it helped to hear Edric say this, that he knew Farkas wasn't the sharpest sword on the rack. It meant he was being honest, and not just saying what he thought Farkas wanted to hear. And to tell the truth, Farkas wasn't really sure what he had wanted to hear.

His mate stepped up to him and hooked his fingers into Farkas' belt. "It wasn't your brains that drew me to you, love. Wasn't even your looks, which to be fair are pretty fantastic."

"C'mon," Farkas mumbled, his cheeks warming. Edric waited, looking up at him with one eyebrow raised, his pretty mouth smirking the tiniest bit. Farkas sighed, "Yeah, all right, I'll bite. So what was it?"

"This," Edric said, placing his hand on Farkas' chest, his expression solemn. He tapped his fingertips on the breastplate. "This right here."

It took several moments of mental struggling before understanding lit Farkas' face, and he let out a groaning laugh. They had both said some pretty ridiculous things to each other, but this was the worst by far. His lover cackled in delight, and Farkas muttered with a smile, "That was really bad." It made him happy though to see Edric being funny again. Relieved, too.

"It was," Edric agreed. His smile softened and he reached up to place his gloved hands on either side of the bigger man's face. "You and me," he murmured. "Isn't that what you said just last week?"

Farkas sighed and reached out to take Edric's waist in his hands. "Yeah."

"I took that seriously, you know."

He did know that. He took everything Farkas said seriously. He was the only person who always did. Maybe Farkas wasn't smart, but Edric treated him like he was. He always had.

He sighed again and leaned down to kiss his mate then touched their noses together. "You and me," he echoed.

"Aye." Edric rubbed his nose against Farkas' then slid his cheek against him. " _Miingi_."

The sweet whisper in his ear made goosebumps rise on his skin. He tightened his hands on Edric's waist and kissed a velvet-soft cheek, reddened from Farkas' beard. "I love you," he whispered. "Too much."

"No such thing," Edric said in a grave tone. "Never." He placed a firm kiss on Farkas' lips. "And I love you too. _Lokal hi_."

And there it was, that tiny bit of dragon language, spoken so rarely now, but Farkas knew what those words meant.

Edric let him go and said with a wicked grin, "Now let's go fuck with some giants."

Farkas grimaced. "I still don't feel good about this," he grumbled as Edric began stripping off his armor. "I've seen them hit a saber cat all the way up into the clouds."

The Dragonborn chuckled. "Yeah, me too. Funniest damn thing I've ever seen."

His grimace deepened but he gave in and began taking off his own armor as well. They would be quieter this way, and to be honest, if they got hit by a giant the armor wouldn't make a damn bit of difference. Edric had that tone to his voice that said he was going to do this and wouldn't be talked out of it, so there was no point fighting it. He thought his lover was deliberately not getting what he was trying to say though, which was that Farkas was worried. Real worried.

He caught his mate's eyes and Edric clucked his tongue and patted his cheek. "It'll be fine, love," he soothed. "I've done this dozens of times. I won't even get them stirred up this time, just sneak in and get the sap and get out again."

"This time."

"Don't tell me you've never baited a giant." Farkas gaped at him, and Edric guffawed and said, "Nah, I know you haven't. No one in their right mind does."

Farkas frankly thought Edric was not quite in his right mind, because it was a given that the Dragonborn had messed with the creatures. There was nothing funny about this at all. Not even a little. But Edric had that streak to him that wasn't quite self-destructive but was still scary as hell, and a sometimes dark sense of humor, so of course he thought it was hilarious. It was like even with what had happened to him in Sovngarde he just couldn't bring himself to believe that he could get badly hurt. Fighting a giant was just as dangerous as fighting a dragon. Maybe worse. Even the Companions didn't tangle with one alone. Not even in pairs.

It was just after sunset when Farkas found himself crouched behind a dead tree overlooking the camp, Edric crouched at his side. The Companion was nearly shaking with nerves, and only the fact that his mate was cool and collected kept him from panicking. The tree was kind of neat, glowing a light purple, and it had a _spigot_ sticking out of its trunk, of all things, which was definitely weird. Who in Oblivion had thought to stick a spigot in a tree? How could that even work?

The two giants were standing on either side of the fire, and their mammoths were beyond, one of the cows lying on her side sleeping with this year's calf tucked against her side, the other two napping on their feet, eyes shut and breathing deeply. One of the giants scratched its belly then grunted something at the other one, and to Farkas' shock the other giant grunted something back. There were other sounds too, just on the edge of his hearing, deeper and underlying the grunts.

He glanced at Edric and saw his mate watching the creatures with a look of delight on his face, and when his mate elbowed him with a grin he whispered, "They talk to each other?" He had never heard that they did. Everyone assumed they were no better than animals, but animals didn't paint rocks with designs or make cheese, or herd other animals, or make weapons, or carve decorative scars into themselves.

"Guess so," Edric replied just as quietly. "Never seen them act like this before, but then I don't usually sneak into their camps at night." He squeezed Farkas' arm and said, "Whatever you do, do _not_ come after me. Worst comes to worst I'll shout and they won't be able to hit me."

"Please don't bait them," Farkas pleaded. Again. He'd begged Edric back in camp to not mess with the giants and his lover had agreed, and Edric was always as good as his word, but the glint in his silver eyes was worrisome.

"I won't. But don't be a hero, all right? If they get agitated I'll draw them off to the south, and you take off back to our camp."

"Sure." That was an easy promise to make, seeing as how they hadn't even brought any weapons with them other than a belt knife. Now that he was thinking about it, he wondered if Edric's insistence on not bringing their swords had been an effort to keep Farkas from trying to protect him if things went bad.

Edric kissed his cheek then moved away a few feet, ducking behind a rock before tossing the bag he was carrying over his shoulder and raising his hands. They glowed bright greenish-blue, and he winked at Farkas then tossed the magic over himself and disappeared.

Farkas must have looked bewildered, because he heard a snicker and smelled his mate as a faint change in the air currents passed by him. The air seemed to bend just the tiniest bit, as did the dry grass on the ground, the only sign that Edric was anywhere nearby.

This whole thing was spooky, and Farkas liked it less than ever. He could track Edric's progress down the hill, barely, then he seemed to disappear completely near a cleft in the rock opposite the dead tree that Farkas was hiding behind. The Companion grit his teeth, fearful anger rearing its head. That had _not_ been part of the plan. That hadn't been mentioned at all. He hadn't even realized there was a cave there.

When he saw the water in the pond ripple a few minutes later he let out the breath he was holding, then he sucked it again when Edric's spell winked out. His mate was knee-deep in the water, one hand on the spigot and the other holding a small potion bottle beneath. Edric was frozen in place, his eyes wide.

"Goddamn it, Edie," Farkas breathed, heart thumping in his chest so hard he felt sick. The bag over Edric's shoulder looked like it had something in it now, and Farkas should have questioned what it was for. The single vial of purple liquid didn't warrant it, so Edric must have known there was a cave there and had gone in after something.

He should've stayed behind in camp. He wished to the Nine that he had stayed behind. He could hardly watch.

Edric slowly lowered his hands, corking the bottle then placing it in a belt pouch. His face was lit by the tree, and his eyes met Farkas', though the warrior doubted Edric could actually see him. The Dragonborn lifted his hands and began casting the spell again, and when he let it loose the flash of light startled the giant on the opposite side of the fire and it let out a bellow of alarm that roused the sleeping mammoths and the other giant.

Farkas whimpered in terror as the giants moved towards the tree, where the only sign of Edric was a ripple against the tree trunk and two circles in the water where his legs had to be.

_"Go, Farkas! Run!"_

Edric's voice sounded in the distance, off to the south, and the two giants roared and took off toward it, the bull mammoth close behind them.

Farkas forced his legs to move and he scampered down the backside of the rocky slope then took off. He heard the commotion die down behind him as the giants ran after the voice, but he kept running until he cleared the trees and was halfway back to their camp.

He slowed to a walk, pulse pounding, though it quickly subsided, with the shape he was in. It was hard to keep walking and not turn back to look for his mate. He had to keep reminding himself that Edric was more than capable of fending for himself, though what Edric was doing to get out of the situation was something Farkas couldn't grasp. He could've sworn that the younger man was at the base of the purple tree, standing in the water, but his voice had sounded further out on the plains.

Their camp was less than a mile away and didn't take much time to reach, but gods did it make him nervous to be camping so close. Edric had sworn they would be gone by time the giants roused themselves in the morning and began making their rounds, and once the creatures calmed tonight they were unlikely to leave their fire again. It helped, but not much.

He heard Edric before he saw him, the pounding of feet on dry grass, and the Dragonborn called his name as he approached at a jog.

Edric blew out a breath, a wide grin on his face, eyes sparkling in the low light. "Well that was exciting!" He took the bag off his shoulder and let it slide to the ground in front of their tent. When he saw the unhappy look on Farkas' face he clucked his tongue and went to him. "Ah, _miingi_ , I'm sorry," he murmured, taking the other man's face in his hands. "That didn't really go as planned, did it?"

"No. It didn't," Farkas grumbled. He took Edric's hands off his cheeks and held them to his chest. "What the hell was so important in that cave, anyway?"

The Dragonborn stared at him for a moment then replied, "It wasn't my going into the cave that upset the giants."

"I know that!" Edric pursed his lips, and Farkas kissed his knuckles then held them against his mouth. "I'm sorry, that just scared the shit out of me."

"I told you, you should've stayed behind."

"Yeah, then I would've heard the giants yelling and had no clue what was going on."

"True." He leaned up on his tiptoes to kiss his mate's cheek then moved away, but Farkas pulled him back.

The Companion repeated, "You scared the shit out of me."

Edric shrugged. "What could I do? They saw me casting. I can muffle the sound of spells but can't hide the light. Tonight was the only time we had to get in there. It was a calculated risk. It paid off." Farkas rumbled, and Edric huffed and gazed at him for a long moment before stating in a careful tone, "I was in no danger."

"Yeah, I call bullshit on that."

"All right...I was in a _manageable_ amount of danger. Think about who you're talking to, Farkas. I've spent the last four years and then some in danger. You've spent the last twenty-odd years in danger. Until we retire to Breezehome and settle into a life of comfortable domesticity, we're going to be in danger."

Farkas let go of him, scowling. He knew he wasn't being fair. Edric wasn't upset, but he was using big words, and he usually avoided that with Farkas. Domesticity...domestic… Okay, settled down, he got that. He knew what Edric was saying. He knew that as long as they lived the lives they did that they were always one step away from dying. Edric had lived life barely half a step from dying for so many years that this had probably seemed like nothing more than a fun little errand he had to run. It was terrifying. It brought home to him all over again how close everything Edric did brought him to dying. He couldn't heal. Even the Dragonborn would die from one hit of a giant's club, but it was everything else too.

He squeezed Farkas' hand, and the bigger man met his eyes, letting his mate see his fear. Edric's expression crumpled. "I'm so scared of losing you," Farkas whispered.

"Farkas. Oh love, that won't happen."

"But it could!" Edric sighed and shook his head, and Farkas pulled their hands tight against his chest and insisted, "You have to be more careful, Edie. Please."

"I can't do that," his mate stated, his tone firm but not angry. "I have to do what I have to do."

"You didn't have to get that tree sap." He knew Edric had used it to help him sleep before coming to Jorrvaskr, but since they had started sharing a bed he hadn't seen his lover take it even once.

"Arcadia used up her entire stock on me. This is part of my payback." Farkas fell silent at that. The Dragonborn continued, "The tree can only give one bottle at a time, and it takes a few weeks to build back up. I had a couple more bottles stashed in a chest in the cave, with some other things. The cave is cleared out now, so no reason for me to go back in there."

The Companion said in realization, "You had one of your caches in there." In a giant's cave. The Dragonborn had been using the giants to guard his stuff. It was bewildering. Beyond bewildered, Farkas was also more than a little surprised that he had made the connection.

"Aye, I did. The chest was already there. Every giant camp has one, for some odd reason. They like to collect valuables but never seem to do anything with them. The caches are safe there. No one messes with giants."

"No one but you." Gods, that took balls, using _giants_ to protect your loot. Edric laughed, looking much too smug, and Farkas sputtered and pulled him close. "You're fucking crazy," he muttered. "You shaved a year off my life."

Edric kissed his neck and chuckled against it, "Wild, huh?"

"Too wild. How did you get them to run off like that?"

"I threw my voice. It's a shout. Sort of a whisper-shout. Comes in handy once in a while. Made the giants think I was running away to the south. Once they took off I snuck back this direction and laid low until they settled back down, to make sure they weren't coming this way."

 _And what if they did?_ Farkas nearly asked, then decided he didn't want to know. The giants hadn't come this way, end of story. He had to trust that Edric could have still found some way to fight them off. His mate was never unarmed, even without a weapon in his hand. He still had the thu'um, and magic, and whatever dragons he could call.

Edric asked, "Ready for that hunt now?"

"Not really," he mumbled. He was only being honest. He couldn't take any more excitement tonight.

His mate laughed. "We don't have to, I told you that."

"Maybe we should wait until after we leave Rorikstead. There's lot of hills north of Robber's Gorge. Maybe even wait until we get out in the marshes."

Edric laughed again, more softly. "All right, _miingi_. All right." He rubbed his hands up Farkas' back then gave it a pat and let go. "Come take a look at the things from the cache. It was a tiny one. No bones or scales. Easy to carry."

Farkas let his mate lead him to the tent, and they took off their boots and climbed inside to get warm, Edric heating the inside with a spell. It startled the warrior only a little this time. Soon it wouldn't at all. He started, "When we get to Robber's Gorge…"

"Yeah?"

"I want you to go in with everything you've got."

Edric nodded in a distracted manner. "I always do." He laid out a silver necklace, the pendant glittering with emeralds, the faint sheen of magic dancing across the surface. " _Niiice_. This one'll bring a good nine hundred septims, easy. Maybe a thousand." He drew a finger across the silver amulet and it swirled pale blue. "Poison resistance. Not bad."

Frowning, Farkas watched his man lay out an obscene amount of jewelry on the bedroll. There were a few fine daggers, one of them jeweled, and a set of elven bracers that were also enchanted. The Companion couldn't wrap his mind around the wealth. He just couldn't. "How uh...how much money do you think you have? Altogether?"

"Pfft. Hell if I know." He chuckled. "Probably easier not to think about it."

He was probably right. "But Robber's Gorge. I'm serious." Edric finally looked up from his treasure. "You got hurt in Dustman's Cairn 'cause you were trying to hide who you were from Vilkas. Every time you've gotten hurt since coming to Jorrvaskr has been because you didn't go all in. I don't want you to hold back because of me. Not even a little."

His mate's expression softened. "Ah, Farkas." He rubbed his thumb across the bigger man's chin. "I swear to you that I won't hold back. At all."

"Good. I just…" He huffed. "Worry."

"This thing with the giants really has you rattled," Edric said in surprise.

"You can't heal, and if I lose you… I can't lose you." His lover was going away to war all too soon, and the thought of that was enough to turn his guts to liquid. He couldn't imagine how Edric would live through that. How could he? People lived through wars, sure, but he was Dragonborn. He would be a target.

Edric sighed and let his hand fall. He scooped up the jewelry and set it aside, murmuring, "I don't particularly like the thought of losing you either." His mouth thinned to a flat line before he added, "I can't be a widower twice over. Losing Ralof killed me, but you…" He shook his head, a short curt movement, his fingers pinching at the leather of the bedroll. "It's different, and I won't survive it this time. If something sends you to the Hunting Grounds, I'll be right behind."

He stared at his lover in horror, silent, but how could he be horrified when he felt the same? If something took Edric from him he would find it impossible to go on. And the bond between them wasn't even finished yet, so how much worse would it be later?

Edric nodded and added, "Might take a few years. If I'm still down south. But...yeah, right behind."

Farkas made a sound of unhappiness, though at the moment it felt like his heart would burst. He took the back of Edric's head and pulled him forward for a kiss. His mate lunged at him, wrapping his hands in Farkas' shirt to kiss him more deeply, then Edric fell backward and pulled the bigger man on top of him. That hadn't been what Farkas was going for, but he sure as hell wasn't going to say no.

* * *

 

Dovahzul translation:  
Miingi - honey/my honey  
Lokal hi - love you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was reading a couple weeks ago about elephants, initially in an effort to find out what elephant's milk tastes like, and therefore elephant cheese (i.e., mammoth cheese). I then stumbled upon elephant communication, and how they use subsonic sounds. I thought it would be kind of interesting if mammoths also did so, along with the giants. People, and wolves, can't hear at that frequency, but I'm bending the laws of nature here, seeing as how we're operating in a magical, non-Earth world.
> 
> On a different note, with this chapter I've finally tipped over the million word mark. I feel like that should mean something, but...maybe it's just a number?


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for brief mention of (what I consider) child abuse.

**Farkas**

"That's...ugh. Ugh, gods."

Farkas snorted a laugh as the smell of the marshes hit his nose. There were worse smells, a lot worse, like vampire lairs, those were really bad, so this was just what he considered stinky. His mate was covering his mouth and nose, trying to block the smell. It was cute, watching him react to something that his still-new senses brought to him.

"When am I going to get used to this?" Edric complained. "I can deal with the sounds, mostly. And the restless sleep is nothing, I mean it isn't bad, but the _smells_. Shit, Farkas. No, shit would smell better."

He laughed more fully. "Sorry honey, it doesn't really get better," he answered. "You just sort of learn to not react."

"Oh, I'm going to keep reacting."

Edric's complaints were mostly good-natured, in keeping with his general good mood on this trip, so Farkas didn't mind. He was too happy to mind. He hadn't even minded when they'd stopped by Rorikstead to visit with Rorik and his husband, Jouane, and their ward Sissel. The Breton Healer was a kind man and had done his best to keep the talk steered away from war, but putting the two Thanes together made that almost impossible. Still, at least Farkas had someone to talk to. Sort of. He wasn't big on talking. Edric was the only real exception to that.

From there they had headed north to Robber's Gorge, making quick work of the half-dozen pathetic bandits that had moved in. Farkas had stayed back at Edric's insistence, so that he could show Farkas exactly what he was capable of. It hadn't been fair, really. Edric had sheathed himself in a cloak of lightning then had run into the camp and shouted and slashed his way through it. Ten minutes. It hadn't taken even ten minutes. Farkas had gone in and surveyed the damage, helped clean out the small amount of loot, including the stuff down in the cavern under the camp, then watched mutely as his lover set the buildings and palisades on fire with magic, and when the magic ran out, he shouted fire.

It had thrown Farkas, he admitted that. It actually had sort of scared the shit out of him. The shouting fire part, mostly. Edric had breathed fire like a dragon. Lots of people could use magic, though it wasn't used as casually as he suspected Edric used to use it, but no one else could shout. King Ulfric could, a little, but he couldn't shout fire. The Greybeards knew most of the shouts Edric did, he claimed, but they stayed up on their mountain, praying and yelling at the sky.

But Farkas hadn't stayed scared long, especially once Edric had stopped in front of him and asked if he was ready to go, with that certain hint of stiffness that Farkas knew. His mate had never been embarrassed or ashamed of what he was, and he damn well shouldn't be, but he knew it made people uneasy, and Farkas was the last person that he wanted to make uneasy. Well that had done it, and the big man had smiled at his lover and called him his little sweetroll and kissed him, and everything was good again after that.

They hadn't taken the chance to hunt yet, but they could do that after picking up their pay in Morthal. A werewolf wouldn't fuss if it got its feet wet chasing prey.

Halfway between Forebears' Holdout and Fort Snowhawk, Farkas heard his partner make a retching sound then put his hand over his mouth and nose, and the Companion was about to laugh when the smell hit him as well: something dead. Not fresh bloody dead like any mercenary was used to, and not the old dusty dead like in tombs and ruins. This was something several days dead and rotten. A dead person. Dead people didn't smell like dead animals. Not quite.

Edric kicked his horse with his heels and rode ahead, gagging, and Farkas didn't blame him. Some things that came with their senses you never got used to. Smells didn't bother Farkas too much, well, most things didn't, but Vilkas sometimes found smells hard to deal with. For Aela it was noise. You just never knew what was going to bother some werewolves but not others.

His horse wasn't happy about the smell either, and he rode her ahead to where Edric waited, upwind. His mate had slid off his horse and was bent over, hands on his knees, helmet off, not throwing up but close to it.

"Yeah, that was bad," Farkas muttered. "It doesn't get much better, I'm sorry." Edric shook his head, breathing rapidly and shallowly, and Farkas got down as well, getting out a handkerchief and wetting it from a waterskin. He handed it to Edric, who wiped his face then held it over his mouth and nose. "Watch the horses? I should go track it down. Make sure nobody was...I don't know, murdered or something."

"Please no," Edric whimpered through the cloth.

"It's okay, honey. It's bad, but I'll be fine." Edric nodded, and Farkas patted his back then took off.

He jogged back to where they first smelled the odor, then he pulled his sword and began tracking it upwind. Shor's balls, it was bad, but it seemed like it was probably just one person, and probably a week or more dead in this cold. There weren't any towns out this way, but people sometimes set up a shack, hunters or trappers, and out past Morthal there were weird marsh folk who kept to themselves, small groups that you spied at a distance in the mist in their shallow little pole boats, then they disappeared the next time you looked.

This might be a vampire kill, and that was one of the main reasons he was checking it out. He didn't fool himself that the Companions and the Dawnguard had gotten them all, even with Edric taking out the main vampire lord. If there was one still on the loose then he felt like he needed to make sure.

He made his way through the woods, not scenting vampires, but they could've come and gone. He felt pretty confident about taking on a few, and if he got into trouble he'd just yell for Edric. His mate would come running, smell or not.

The source wasn't hard to find, coming from a tiny one-room shack near the edge of the marsh. People sometimes just liked living alone like this. Farkas found it hard to imagine, and being a werewolf made it even harder. He needed people around him. Not just his pack, his family, but other people in general. Even Edric did, as much of a loner as he sometimes was. But not everyone was like that.

As he approached he caught a whiff of dog a few seconds before a big wolfhound came bounding out of the house. The dog barked, dancing back and forth, but it wasn't angry, Farkas knew that much. He pulled off a gauntlet and approached carefully, avoiding the dog's gaze, and held his hand out. "C'mere, pup," he called softly. "It's all right, boy, er…" He couldn't really tell, but it wasn't like the dog would care what it was called.

The dog sniffed his hand then ran back into the shack, and Farkas sighed and followed. Dogs did that sometimes, he'd heard. Tried to get your attention, to show you something.

That something was his old owner, lying on the bed, skin discolored and...oozing. Ugh, gods. From the way his hands were clawed up and his body contorted it looked like rockjoint. Guy must've been too stubborn to go into Morthal or Dragonbridge for a potion. Even the fort would've helped him. Shame. Well at least it wasn't vampires.

He covered his mouth and nose, for all the good that did, and poked around a bit. There wasn't anything of use or value, really, and he sure as hell wasn't touching any of the food. He found a journal and pocketed that for Edric to look at. The dog seemed to have been hunting for itself, torn up rabbits and slaughterfish littering the floor, but it was lean, not eating as much as these big dogs probably needed to thrive. Winter was coming before long and the dog wouldn't last, even with the shack for shelter. It would eventually starve to death.

Farkas walked out of the shack, patting his thigh. "C'mon boy," he called. "C'mon!" The dog whined, then it dashed out of the shack and ran around him, barking. He huffed in helpless annoyance and kept walking away, calling the dog and patting his leg, but the animal wouldn't leave its owner.

Saddened, Farkas returned to his mate and the horses. Edric still looked pale, paler than usual, but didn't seem sick anymore. That was a relief.

He pointed his thumb back over his shoulder. "Some hunter or something," he explained. "Rockjoint, I think. It's too bad."

"I heard a dog barking," Edric said with a frown.

"Yeah, the guy's dog. Kept wanting me to go back and…fuck, I don't know, help. What could I do? The guy's been dead for a week." He shuddered. "Here." He handed Edric the journal, and his mate turned his nose up and pinched the notebook by a corner. "It doesn't smell," Farkas sighed.

"It's the idea. It's...it's tainted. Soaking up dead body funk. Ugh." He took the journal, his head reared back, and flipped through it. "This guy's handwriting was _terrible_."

Farkas nearly retorted _At least he could write_ , but he knew Edric hadn't meant it that way. And the poor guy had had rockjoint, which couldn't have made writing easy.

His mate flipped through the pages, his expression sliding into a frown. "The dog's name is Meeko," Edric mumbled. "'He was always a loyal companion.' Shit." He snapped the journal shut.

"That dog's gonna starve this winter," Farkas stated with regret. "I figured we could take it to the fort or Morthal or something, but I couldn't make it come with me. It didn't want to leave its master." _A loyal companion_. Gods, that broke his heart. Vilkas had always chided him for being soft-hearted, but he didn't care. Edric closed his eyes, gripping the journal, and Farkas said, "Maybe...maybe we could tell the soldiers at the fort. They could tempt it with some meat. It's, I mean he, he's hunting for himself. He looked like a smart dog. But he was already getting skinny."

"Ah fuck," Edric muttered. He smacked the journal on his leg, his foot bouncing. He looked up at the sky, his mouth twisted, then he sighed, "Take me to the shack. But _upwind_ , Farkas. _Please_."

Relieved, Farkas took his horse's reins and began walking, his mate close behind. "What're you gonna do?"

"I know a shout that makes animals obey. Not the one I showed you awhile back, when the wolves attacked outside Riverwood. A different one. He'll come with me. Might have to keep doing it to make him stick around, but it should work."

Meeko came bounding out of the shack again as they neared, barking excitedly, brown eyes bright and looking _happy_ , for gods' sake. As if Farkas had brought help for his master. It made him want to cry.

" _RAAN MIR TAH!"_

"Fuck!" The Companion jumped and yelped at the thunderous yell so close by. The horses didn't care, probably under the effect of the shout too. The dog yipped happily and came running to Edric, who laughed and bent down to pet the big wolfhound.

"Meeko, huh? Aren't you a...really stinky boy." He stood up and blinked, eyes watering. "Good god, you're stinky."

"It's a dog." It's not like dogs were supposed to smell great. At least Meeko just smelled like dog and not his dead master. Meeko sat down hard and began scratching with his back leg. Yeah, definitely a boy dog, and from the way he was scratching probably full of fleas too.

"Well let's get out of here while we can," Edric said as he mounted his horse. "We've only got about a minute before the shout wears off, and a space of maaaaybe ten seconds after that before I can use it again. If we get far enough away he might not head back." He kicked his horse into a canter. Farkas caught up to ride beside him, the dog following at Edric's other side, gazing up at him with a grin, tongue hanging out. "Once we reach the fort we'll give him to someone," the Dragonborn said with a decisive nod. "They can take care of it. Him."

Farkas frowned at the odd tone to his mate's voice. "Okay." Something about the dog was bothering Edric, which was kind of weird. It was just a dog. Seemed like a nice dog though, but then most of the big wolfhounds were friendly sorts. Lots of rural Nord families kept hounds, as did some nobles, and the dogs were usually good with kids.

When the shout wore off the dog whined loudly and stopped in the road, turning to look back, but Edric had a strip of elk jerky ready and made a kissing sound to the dog as he leaned down and offered it. "Meeko. Here Meeko," he called, and the dog watched him warily for a moment then ran forward and snatched the dried meat out of the Dragonborn's hand. The dog quickly finished it off then looked for another, and Edric complied, a distracted look on his face as he seemed to mentally count off the seconds until he could shout again.

When he did, the dog warmed up to him again and they continued down the road. It went that way for a good fifteen minutes, and Farkas was surprised at his lover's stubborn refusal to let the dog turn back. Farkas didn't want that either, but he would've given up after about five minutes.

Eventually Meeko stopped turning back. Edric seemed satisfied, but still not quite happy about the matter.

They arrived at the fort in early afternoon, and while he could get the dog to stay with Farkas while he spoke with the commander, the dog wouldn't stay behind when they took their leave a short time later. They hadn't stayed long, Edric only _sort_ of a Thane of Hjaalmarch, and he didn't intend to keep being one either, but the dog got a small meal out of it, which was good.

"Goddamn dog," Edric muttered as they rode away, Meeko trotting happily at his side. "What the fuck are we supposed to do with him now?"

Farkas shrugged. "Take him back to Whiterun with us, I guess." Seemed simple enough. "Skjor and Tilma might fuss, but if it's your dog they aren't going to say no." Farkas actually kind of liked the idea of them having a dog. It would be like a kid together, but not as much work. He hoped a dog wasn't as much work, anyway.

The Dragonborn let out a short bark of a laugh. "I'd like to see them try." He sighed, "But Farkas… I meant what are we going to do with the dog right now? We haven't hunted yet."

"I don't know. Give him another day or two to get used to us and see how it goes? Maybe I change first and you shout at him so he's not scared?" They couldn't put off hunting for too much longer without getting grumpy, and he wanted to avoid that, because getting grumpy with each other wasn't an option. Edric scratched his chin and nodded slowly. "Or we could pay the innkeeper to watch him along with the horses."

"Those are both good ideas, _miingi_."

He couldn't help but smile at that. His mate was the only person who ever really said that to him. He said in a cheerful tone, "It'll be nice, having a dog in the hall. Me and Vilkas always wanted a dog, but…" He paused, and when his mate looked at him in question he shrugged again and looked down the road. "Pa wouldn't let us have one. Vilkas kept trying to convince me that we should just find a puppy and bring it home, but Pa would've been pissed at that and thrown the dog out, or...worse. No way that would've worked, and 'cause it was Vilkas' idea he would've gotten in most of the trouble." He sighed. "He always did."

Edric grunted, frowning. "You don't talk about your father much."

"Not much to say. He did his best. Maybe his best wasn't very good, but I know he tried. Kodlak said we shouldn't judge, that we don't know how hard things were for him, but… I don't know. It's hard to care when you're a kid. Pa and me, we got along fine, though. I did what he said and stayed out of his way. Vilkas, well, that's not how he is. Even when he was a kid he always had to push things, even if he got beat for it. Sometimes I think he misbehaved on purpose, just to make Pa lose his temper."

"Shit, Farkas," his lover whispered.

"It wasn't as bad as you're probably thinking." And now he wished he hadn't said anything. Jergen had been hard on Vilkas, it was true, but he'd never left a mark.

"Hitting a kid at all is fucking uncalled for. My mother never laid a hand on me, and she was just a kid herself, not a grown fucking man. A grown fucking werewolf of a man." Angry, Edric made a cutting gesture with his hand as he stated, "I don't give much of a fuck about most people, but there are three goddamn lines that should never be crossed: kids, animals and elders. An adult hitting a kid is a fucking bully, end of story." He made a growling sound and rotated his shoulders, and when he spoke again his voice had a touch of the beast in it. "No wonder your brother is such a fucking mess. Doesn't excuse it, but fuck if it isn't a reason."

Farkas didn't respond, eyes wide in his helmet at how worked up his mate was. The number of fucks Edric had just said was more than Farkas had ever heard him stuff into such a short amount of time, and the Dragonborn had a bit of a foul mouth at the best of times. That he was upset for Vilkas' sake was even more shocking, but it was more kid-Vilkas he was upset for than now-Vilkas.

Edric grumbled, "I'm not mad at you."

"I know. Just...don't say anything to Vilkas, okay? He wouldn't want me to say anything about then. He still hates our pa."

"Then why did he care so much when Jergen left?"

"I don't know, I guess sometimes you can hate someone and love them too. He was still our pa, and he wasn't bad all the time. He just had...moments. Mostly he was just kind of glum. Sad and angry. Depressed maybe. Drank too much, fought too much." He gnawed at his bottom lip and went on more quietly, "There's times where I think he went off to war just to find an honorable way to end it all. Like he just didn't want to go on. Like you told me you felt, before we got together. We had Kodlak and Tilma to look after us if he died, you know? And Askar for a while, and Gislun. Aela's mom. Pa would go on jobs and come back a wreck and the others would be fine, like he threw himself into danger just… hoping."

"Do you think it's because of your mother?"

Farkas nodded, frowning. Of course Edric understood. "Yeah, I do. I wonder sometimes…" Gods, he could hardly say it, even to the person he trusted most. It was something he'd thought about for decades, off and on, something he could never give voice to, not even to Kodlak or Vilkas. _Especially_ not Vilkas.

"If maybe she was a werewolf too?"

"Yes," he breathed, feeling a shiver go through him, of relief or anxiety or both he wasn't sure. "Shit Edie." Edric moved his horse close and pulled them both to a stop, and when his lover reached out a hand Farkas grabbed at it. He stared into his mate's eyes and Edric squeezed his hand. "What if she was? What if that's why Pa was so…" Broken. Like he had a death wish. A broken pairbond could do that to a person, they all knew that. It was part of what made what was growing between him and Edric so scary sometimes. Farkas didn't want to end up like Jergen, always either scowling or staring at nothing, snapping at the smallest things, never smiling. He _wouldn't_ end up like that. Neither he or Edric would wait around if they lost the other.

Or so he kept telling himself. What if they had kids, though? How could he leave their kids behind without at least one of their fathers? Kodlak had said that to the twins, more than once: _Jergen stayed as long as he could, because of you two_.

"It's very possible." Edric sighed and gave his man's hand another squeeze. " _Bormah_ wouldn't talk about her. Said Jergen had given him his trust and that was that. All he would tell me was that none of them even knew that Jergen had a family anywhere until he brought you and Vilkas back to Jorrvaskr, one of you under each arm naked and filthy and screaming, like he'd pulled you out of an animal den or something."

"Yeah, that's all he told us too," Farkas whispered. Kodlak hadn't even known their mother's name. As if Jergen couldn't bear to speak it. Mara's mercy, he was going to lose it if he kept thinking about this.

"But the old man knew something. I told him it was unfair to keep the knowledge to himself, that you two deserved to know about your mother more than a dead man deserved his secrets, but he wouldn't bend. Stubborn old bastard."

Farkas didn't like when Edric referred to Kodlak in that way, but there never seemed to be much real heat behind it. And for all the affection he had grown to feel for his father, Edric hadn't been raised by him. There was no way he could feel for the old man what Farkas and Vilkas had. Did.

"Ah, sorry. I know you disapprove."

"It's okay." He leaned over, and Edric leaned the rest of the way, then they realized they still wore their helmets and sighed. Farkas kissed his lover's hand instead and said, "It's just a couple more hours to Morthal. We can stay in the inn and have a nice dinner and a real bed." He glanced the dog's direction, though Meeko couldn't be seen from this angle. "Maybe stop at the alchemy shop first and see if Lami has something for fleas and ticks. Jonna might not let him in otherwise." The odds of the dog not being full of bugs was slim, and frankly Farkas didn't want to sleep near an animal that had them. He and the rest of the Circle couldn't get any of the diseases spread by ticks and fleas, but that didn't make bug bites pleasant.

As they continued on to Morthal the thought of his mother kept eating at Farkas. The thought of _both_ his parents. All the twins knew was that their mother had been killed by mages, necromancers, and that was where Jergen had found his sons. It was the main reason Jergen had hated magic so violently, and had reacted so very, very badly to the one time he had caught Vilkas reading a book about magic.

Everything would make perfect sense if their mother had been a werewolf. It would explain why Jergen had been so harsh for most of their childhood, as if whatever love had been in him before that had been torn out of him. If his mate had died, maybe that was the truth. Kodlak had made it clear that Jergen had been a hard man even before that, but that once he had come back with Vilkas and Farkas he had been a little out of his mind. Wild. The old Harbinger Askar had said the same thing, before he died, and he hadn't known Jergen as well as Kodlak had.

But Kodlak had assured both twins that their father loved them, and Farkas did remember the love being there. Jergen never smiled, but he would nod in approval or his expression would soften. He had barely been able to read himself, but he had never judged Farkas for being unable to, saying his gifts were elsewhere, and he had taken pride in how smart Vilkas was. He had always kept his sons close when he was home, all three of them always sharing the bed, and where Vilkas had found that stifling Farkas had found it comforting. He remembered their father waking during the night, always at least once a night as restless as he was, and feeling around him to make sure both his pups were still there. Farkas had never doubted that their father had loved them, and if Kodlak could see things the way Edric could, then he would've been the one person who had known for sure that Jergen had.

But why wouldn't Jergen tell anyone about his mate, to the point where his own pack brothers and sister hadn't even known he had a wife and children? Why didn't he want his own sons to know about their mother? Maybe there was no good reason, other than the fact that Jergen just hadn't wanted to talk about it. Vilkas had pestered Jergen from time to time about their mother and in hindsight it wasn't hard to see that his reactions had been driven by grief. Jergen just couldn't talk about her. Maybe was just barely holding himself together as long as he could, until it got to be too much and he looked for an honorable way to die so he could be with her again.

Yeah, in that light it all made perfect sense. He couldn't talk to his brother about it, not as unstable as he was, but once Vilkas was cured he would bring it up. Surely Vilkas would see how much sense it all made. There was no way though that he could say anything about it now. His brother would only see it as more proof of what a terrible idea it was for Farkas and Edric to bond with each other. Not that there was any hope of stopping it now.

It was evening by time they made it to Morthal, and Farkas was feeling sad and quiet, quieter than usual anyway. He could tell Edric was concerned, but he probably knew why. Of course he knew why.

The alchemy shop was closed, but Lami answered the door easily enough, and she was more than glad to take their extra coin for a couple bottles of powder and a thick-bristled brush.

"I am _not_ looking forward to this," Edric muttered as they crossed the road to the inn. The Jarl's household was closed up for the night; better to collect the pay for the jobs in the morning.

Farkas offered, "I'll take care of it, honey. I don't mind."

"No no. He seems to think he's my dog." Edric sighed heavily and looked down at Meeko, who seemed to sense his attention and looked up at him with a big grin, brown eyes shining. "Damn dog," he murmured, though there was no resentment behind it, and when Meeko wagged his tail then yipped at him he snorted a laugh.

Farkas told Meeko, "Don't listen to him, boy. You're a good dog."

"Ha! We'll see how good he is when we start dumping this smelly crap all over him."

"Eh, just shout at him again."

"I'm sure the locals will _love_ that."

Farkas thought the locals could use some excitement, from how bored the guards were and how empty the streets, well, _street_ , looked. It was past dinner time and dark out, so most people were home and maybe even in bed by now.

Edric chuckled, "Maybe I should shout at a guard and make him de-flea the dog."

"Uh...yeah," Farkas laughed weakly. He really hoped his mate was joking. Well of course Edric was joking. It wasn't like he was unethical. He might skirt things sometimes, but he was a good person, an honorable man.

"I'm joking, _miingi_ ," Edric assured him.

"I knew that."

"Mm-hm."

They took care of their horses at the inn's small stable, making sure the dog stayed outside. Farkas didn't think horses got fleas, but it didn't pay to take chances.

Meeko did _not_ approve of the flea treatment, and Edric approved even less, nose wrinkled up cutely and his face turned away as far as he could. It took both of them and a number of shouts, which of course brought the few town guards running, which in turn made Edric angry as they stood there watching the two Companions wrestle with a huge wolfhound. Or maybe they were just staring at the Dragonborn. Farkas kept forgetting that most people had no idea what Edric looked like.

Farkas could see Edric's temper building, and he wasn't too happy about the situation either. He growled at the guards, "Help or move along." He could smell his mate's growing irritation, and with them both overdue to hunt that wasn't a good thing.

The guards hesitated, and when the Dragonborn slowly stood with clenched fists the men finally left. Quickly. "Fucking guards," Edric muttered. "Always the same, everywhere I go." Farkas grunted in agreement. Edric shook his head and turned his attention back to the dog, then he clucked his tongue when he saw Meeko's tail tucked between his legs and his head lowered. "No no boy, you're a good boy. Meeko's a good boy." He petted the dog's head and Meeko responded, tongue lolling out and tail wagging a bit.

Farkas chuckled. It was nice seeing Edric warm up to the animal, though he could tell that his mate was clamping down hard on his fussiness. He wouldn't be surprised if the first thing Edric did when they got home was give the dog a bath in Jorrvaskr's big stone tub. The two of them would definitely need to wash tonight, and Meeko was going to have to stay outside by the fire when it was time for bed, because Farkas wasn't going to try to fool around with a dog staring at him.

Jonna surprisingly didn't make even a peep of protest about the dog when they entered her inn, but maybe it wasn't so surprising if she had heard the shouting outside. She was deferential to the Dragonborn, and more than glad to heat up enough water for a hip bath. The dog got a bowl of stew of his own, and Edric seemed to relax a bit as they ate by the fire.

Meeko flopped down on his side and stretched out next to it, looking about as happy as a dog could be with his lot in life. Farkas laughed and leaned down to pet him and he wagged his tail. They had done a good thing, making the dog come along, and Edric seemed pleased as well, even with what a chore it had been to get the dog powdered and brushed out. The dog certainly looked healthier, his rough coat free of snarls, and he wasn't scratching the way he had been.

As they ate he noticed Edric watching the dog, while Jonna hurried about in the background readying a room for her important guest. Farkas didn't fool himself that he played any part in that, though any innkeeper was always glad to see the Companions come through, as long as it hadn't been Torvar.

Jonna offered them drinks and both men declined, and Farkas was glad to see that it didn't distress his man to do so. Edric's focus was still on Meeko. "He seems like a real nice dog," Farkas offered. "It'll be nice having him around Jorrvaskr. We could use new faces, even if it's a dog."

"Yeah, I think so." He mopped up the last of his stew with a chunk of bread, saying, "We do need to recruit new blood. We're two down from already low numbers." Farkas grunted and nodded. As Jonna went downstairs into the cellar, Edric murmured, "Skjor should be focusing on that and not this vendetta of his. Him and Aela."

"We've never really done that. Recruiting, I mean. Never had to before. But...you're gonna be gone next spring, and Skjor…"

"Skjor's going to be dead before the end of the year, love. Mark my words."

Farkas shivered and didn't reply to the ominous statement. He had grown up with Kodlak's intuition, though it had never really been anything anyone outright talked about, and Edric didn't have his father's visions and dreams, but it was still spooky. The end of the year though? Today was the 2nd of Evening Star. It made a spike of anguish go through him to think that his forebear might be gone before the month was out.

Edric went on in the same matter-of-fact tone, "After I head out, you'll be down to six people. Three members of the Circle, three juniors. Not acceptable." He put his feet up on the rock wall surrounding the firepit. "Once we get back to Jorrvaskr, I'm going to send out some letters to all the holds. Say the Companions are recruiting, race isn't an issue, we'll take all skill levels, but they'll have to face off against me to get in. That last part should cut down on anyone who isn't serious. No one else is getting shit done. I'm not going to leave shit undone."

"Okay." It was a relief to hear. It was hard to say how long Edric had been thinking about this. It was hard to say what he was thinking about at any given moment. He never stopped. Someone had to take Jorrvaskr in hand though, and Skjor was too focused on the Silver Hand to do much else. If there was anyone who was going to straighten things out in Jorrvaskr, it would be Edric.

The younger man leaned down to pet the dog, and Meeko's tail thumped against the wood floor. "I think Athis has potential for the Circle. Serious potential. I think he'd be more ambitious if he had faith that it was an actual possibility. He's been a Companion for nine years, but some part of him still wonders how he got in. He jokes about being Harbinger one day, but I hear the bitterness in it. I want to see if I can give him a push in the right direction."

"Really," Farkas said in surprise. Athis as Harbinger one day? It seemed outrageous, at first, but...well, why not? There had been an elf Harbinger before, long ago, and Athis was good. Real good. A solid Companion and a trustworthy shield-brother. Who else was there to take the position, if Skjor was going to be dead within another month or so and Edric gone next year? Vilkas could, maybe, a _big_ maybe, if he got cured soon and got his head straightened out, but he really didn't have the temperament for it. Neither did Aela, and she didn't want it anyway. Farkas was out of the question. If...he hated to think it, but if Edric died in the war, there would be no one else, but Athis wasn't ready for it either. Not yet. Even Farkas knew that much.

"His potential is being wasted. He doesn't take more responsibility because no one is giving it to him. He doesn't push himself because he thinks it'll go nowhere."

"Wow," he whispered. Goosebumps rose on his skin, again. His mate was staring at the fire, his mind obviously turning, eyes distant but intent. That touch of insecurity came back, Farkas' anxiety over his lack of smarts, but...he was the one Edric was saying all these things to. He was the one Edric was bouncing ideas off of, the one Edric trusted. Farkas didn't think Edric had talked about these things to anyone else.

Jonna was coming back upstairs, and the Dragonborn fell silent, so Farkas did as well, not that he had a lot to say about the matter. He agreed that the Companions were in deep shit, and it could quickly get deeper. Jobs came in all the time, now that Edric wasn't running around the country solving everyone's problems, and they were short-handed as it was. Next year would be impossible.

The innkeeper set up the small tin tub in their room, and Edric asked Meeko, "You going to be okay out here tonight, boy?" The dog panted at him and wagged. The Dragonborn laughed and petted him again, then smelled his hand and gagged. "Someone's getting a bath when we get home."

Amused, Farkas stated, "I thought you might want to do that." Edric smiled at him, a beautiful smile just for him. _Home_. He loved it every time that word fell from his mate's mouth.

Jonna brought them slices of apple pie then took away their bowls, and as she walked away Edric poked at the dessert and mumbled, "I had a dog, when I was a kid."

That was surprising. Really surprising. "You did?"

Edric nodded. "For a short while." He looked at Meeko for a long, silent moment then huffed and looked at the fire, eating a few bites with a thoughtful look on his face. "She was a mongrel, followed me home one day when we lived in Markarth. I think I was...ten? She was mangy and thin, a street dog, but tame, like she used to be someone's pet and had been abandoned. Mummy was upset about it, said she couldn't afford another mouth to feed, but… she couldn't say no to me either." He chewed at his bottom lip, so hard that Farkas feared he would tear the skin and make it bleed. "I ah, didn't realize yet what she did to keep us alive. Still took me another year or two before I got it. I told her I could do whatever she did, work like she did to help pay for the dog, to help us both out. She...got very upset."

"I… Yeah," Farkas whispered, his voice cracking. That would have upset any mother, and Edric had painted a very strong picture of how pretty he had been as a child, pretty like a girl, with white-blond curls and long eyelashes and a rosebud mouth. Too pretty, for either gender, and while that had been a blessing in some ways, prompting strangers to give him food, or their kids' cast-off clothing, it had also been a curse, with what Daina had done for a living. Prostitution wasn't common in Skyrim at all, and the kind of men who visited prostitutes weren't always the honorable sort.

Edric shrugged. "The dog got sick, after a few weeks. Was probably already sick when she latched onto me. Had a cough that never went away. We woke up one morning and she'd passed. I was heartbroken. Cried for hours. Mummy cried too. She cried every time I cried. I'd always wanted a pet before that, but after...I didn't have the heart to put us both through that again." He blew out a sputtering breath then glanced at his man, and when he saw Farkas' glossy eyes he grumbled and reached over to squeeze Farkas' knee. "I'm sorry, love. That's really damn morose, isn't it?"

"Yeah." He wasn't quite sure what the word meant, but he knew it was sad. He leaned over to kiss his mate's cheek then rubbed the back of Edric's neck as he leaned their heads together. "I want to meet her. Your ma. Soon."

"Next chance we get, I promise." The Dragonborn grimaced. "I read that book. The one I'm borrowing from the College. I'm good at Illusion, but not that good. And I'm fucking tired."

Farkas made a sound of agreement and understanding. He did understand, though he couldn't imagine how hard it had been for Edric, sneaking into Riften, avoiding certain subjects around his mother. Protecting her from most of who and what he was. "Then tell her everything," he urged. "She might get upset, but maybe she won't stay that way. Tell her about Kodlak. She deserves to know, even if it's hard for her." Edric closed his eyes and sighed heavily, and Farkas nuzzled by his ear and promised in a whisper, "I'll be there with you, honey. You don't have to do it alone."

"Ah love, I know. I'm...glad." He squeezed Farkas' leg. "She'll take one look at you and know, even if I could pull off the illusion on myself. Kodlak told her the truth. He had to, wounded as he was."

"...Oh." He hadn't known that. Werewolf blood would only turn someone if it was drunk, eaten somehow, but he had no idea how little it might take. He hadn't imagined Kodlak had told Daina what he really was, but Farkas supposed he must have, if she had never gone to Whiterun for fear of the wolves stealing her child, as she had told Edric.

"It ends with us, Farkas." The bigger man sat up in surprise. Edric kept his hand on his mate's knee and vowed, "The others don't know. Doesn't matter with regards to Skjor anyway. Vilkas would be glad, but Aela...she's going to be _pissed_. Damn pissed. I promised _Bormah_ , but even if I hadn't I would still make certain. Athis is going to have to find out, and deal with it, but...no more. We're going to be the last in that hall."

Farkas didn't know how to feel about that. He was so stunned he didn't know what to say. Edric was going to end the Circle as they knew it. No one else would take the beastblood after them.

Edric said in a tone of false lightness, "This is one of those things I'm not going bend on, Farkas. Just… putting that out there."

"I know. I…" Farkas had agreed with Kodlak that new members of the Circle should be given a choice, but stopping altogether? There would be no more pack. After Vilkas was cured, the pack would be just the three of them: Aela, Farkas and Edric. That wasn't a pack. That was a mated couple and a she-wolf who preferred keeping to herself.

So this was another of those things Edric had promised his father. Skjor was going to die before the end of the year and it was a given that Edric would be Harbinger. Farkas knew that it was pointless trying to argue Edric out of this. Once the Dragonborn had set his mind a certain way, that was it. And really, why should Farkas care? It wasn't like he was devoted to Hircine.

Hircine. Oh shit.

He said in a wary tone, "Aela's not the only one who's gonna be pissed. Someone, uh, bigger than all of us is gonna be real unhappy."

Edric sneered in contempt. "He's getting me. He's going to have to be satisfied with that."

Farkas left the matter alone. He had to. It was too scary to deal with, and there was only so much that could be said while not giving anything away where Jonna could hear.

"I've taken seventy-six dragon souls over the last four years," his mate said in a tone that managed to sound both thoughtful and frightening. "They've become a part of me. I _consumed_ them. I don't think he really understands what he's in for." He leaned down to pet Meeko and added in a cheerful voice, "Does he boy? No he doesn't!" Meeko wagged his tail then barked in assent.

There were times like this where Farkas himself still didn't know what he was in for. He liked to think he knew Edric better than anyone, but his mate still had the ability to unsettle him like this. Maybe Edric always would.

He loved him though, no matter how weird and sometimes scary he was. He loved Edric more than he'd ever loved anyone else in his life.

"Damn dog," Edric said with affection, and he ruffled the top of Meeko's head then stood from the chair to stretch. "I could use that bath."

"Yeah, me too," Farkas mumbled. His mate looked at him, trying to figure out his tone, and when Farkas smiled Edric did as well and held out his hand to him. Farkas took it and held it to his lips as he held his man's eyes and thought _I love you, I love you_ , and the smile fell from Edric's face. He swallowed as his eyes grew wet, and Farkas softly stated, "I do. I really do." Edric nodded, a tiny curt nod, silver eyes glistening, unable to look away.

Farkas felt it again, the faintest tightening between them, like the coiling of a rope, pulling their souls closer.

Edric breathed, "Ah Farkas, you feel it too."

"Yeah," he whispered in response. His mate moved closer and Farkas held their hands to his chest, and Edric lifted his other to stroke a bearded cheek. "Maybe...maybe it'll be done before we get back."

"Maybe. I hope so."

"Aela says it's different for everyone. And you're…"

"Different, aye."

"Good different." Farkas had to say it. Edric took pride in what he was, but Farkas never wanted his beloved to think that Farkas didn't admire it too. The Dragonborn kissed him, a rather chaste kiss, then gently tugged on his hand. He let his man pull him to his feet, and when the dog moved to follow Meeko was ordered to stay; the fire was warm and the dog didn't need much convincing.

Farkas didn't need much convincing either to let Edric pamper him. Once their armor was off, his mate sat him in the little tub and took the washcloth and began washing him from head to toe, with kisses in between. Farkas didn't think he'd ever felt so...so _special_. It was almost embarrassing, the way Edric was showering him with attention and care, but it felt good, and he was going to return the favor, and then they would make love and maybe top it off with some nice backrubs before they went to sleep. In the morning they could take their time eating breakfast by the fire, collect their pay from the Jarl, then set off to fulfill Arcadia's debt, and tomorrow night they could hunt the marshes. Farkas didn't think he had ever done that before.

Being with Edric, he was going to do lots of things he hadn't done before. But they were good things. Scary things, sometimes, but the good far outweighed the rest.

* * *

Pocketing the heavy bag of coin, Farkas nodded to Pactur then bowed to Jarl Sorli. A thousand gold wasn't bad for only two jobs, especially when Edric had been the one to wipe out Robber's Gorge.

It had been a bit awkward when the Jarl had asked where her Thane was, but Farkas hadn't needed to lie; Edric was at the alchemist's. Lami had quite a few things in stock that Arcadia wanted, and Edric wasn't above buying from her to cut down on the amount of foraging he would have to do. Lami was a tough woman and braved the marshes on her own to find her ingredients, and Farkas had the feeling she also traded with the marsh folk. He hoped they didn't run into any while they were hunting tonight. The now of wolf thought wasn't rational a lot of the time, and any strangers they ran into would be in danger of being killed. And eaten. Farkas really didn't want Edric to have to deal with that. It happened to every werewolf sooner or later, but he wanted to spare Edric for as long as he could.

Outside Highmoon Hall, a light rain was falling, a mist really, and Farkas grumbled and pulled up the hood of his cloak. As he crossed the street he made only brief note of an older man leaning against one of the timber columns in front of Lami's shop. He looked sort of familiar, bald with a big mustache, and Farkas thought he might have been one of the warriors who had gone with Farkas, Aela and Njada to clean out that head vampire's lair. Lami had gone with them as well, and the way she wielded a sword made Farkas wonder if she hadn't always been an alchemist.

That horrible Orc bard had gone along too, trying to be a hero. It had been too bad when he hadn't made it, but the townsfolk hadn't been too broken up about it. Jonna had tried to slip the Companions some coin afterward and had winked and acted weird in general about it, as if they'd had anything to do with the guy dying. It had actually been kind of offensive, and they hadn't taken the coin. Farkas was glad that she hadn't brought it up again. The inn sure had been nice and quiet last night though.

Edric came out of the shop and the man stood away from the column. Edric saw him and froze, and the man crossed his arms and blocked the Dragonborn's path.

Farkas growled and quickened his pace. His man was plenty capable of taking care of himself, but it was a mate's job to do it too, and he didn't like the intense look that the older man was leveling at Edric.

Before the Companion could speak, he heard the man say, "Greetings, my Thane."

_Oh shit_ , Farkas thought. His anger turned to worry. Valdimar. One of Edric's three remaining housecarls. The person Edric was trying to avoid.

Edric didn't answer, his expression flat, and Valdimar went on in a dry tone, "Couldn't help but hear the thu'um last night. I was pretty sure the High King wasn't in town. Thought it might be you, my lord."

"And here I am," Edric replied, voice expressionless.

"Rumor's been going around, my Thane. People say Jarl Skald's youngest son nearly got you killed. Simple cut on the thigh nearly did in the Dragonborn."

_Oh shit_ , Farkas thought again. This was exactly what Edric had been worried about.

Valdimar's stance firmed up as he went on, "Rumor says you can't take magical healing any longer, my Thane. Whatever you did to fix the damage Alduin caused left you immune. Is this true?"

Farkas wished that had never gotten out. Gods, how he wished it hadn't. Edric should've hidden in Jorrvaskr until he healed. It didn't occur to Farkas until just this moment that if everyone knew the Dragonborn couldn't magically heal, his enemies might take the opportunity to come after him. And Edric had them. He had to, after fighting three years of a civil war that had torn Skyrim in two. The war had been over for a year but some people still got into fistfights over it. Farkas didn't think the Empire would be stupid enough to go after the Dragonborn with another war coming up, and Skyrim being an ally of sorts, but there were plenty of other people who'd be more than glad to see the Dragonborn dead. Namely the Thalmor and the Aldmeri Dominion.

When Edric didn't answer Valdimar nodded and muttered, "I see. And I imagine Jarl Vignar wasn't able to talk you into taking another housecarl?" Edric's eyes flicked past the older man, and Valdimar looked over his shoulder to see Farkas there.

"He's got the Companions," Farkas stated. "Never goes anywhere without at least one of us."

The housecarl nodded. "And that is a good thing. But he won't always be with the Companions. And it isn't your duty to guard him." He saw Farkas frown and look at his mate with worry, and the older man's tone softened as he turned back to Edric. "Jarl Idgrod released me from my bond to Hjaalmarch, before she left Morthal. She said a time would come that you would need me. I think that time is now, my Thane." Edric rolled his eyes, and he warned, "I wouldn't scoff, _Dovahkiin_. Idgrod has the Sight. Her visions are true, no matter what people may think. Idgrod said you would understand such things, considering your father."

Farkas sputtered in offense and saw his lover's fair skin flush, but before he could step in Edric's eyes narrowed as he stated, "The time is _not_ now, and I do _not_ accept your service."

The housecarl's expression turned grim. "Then when, my lord?"

"When I say so." He stepped around the older man then went to Farkas. "Jonna said the horses and Meeko will be taken care of. Let's go."

"My Thane," Valdimar said in clipped tones, following the two men as they headed for the bridge out of town. "You're risking not only your life but our future."

"Alduin is dead. Anything else anyone gets from me is gravy."

"You've already lost a husband, my lord. Are you going to put your man here through losing you in turn?"

_Oh shit_ , Farkas thought for a third time, as his lover rounded on the older man, furious.

"You presume too much, _housecarl_ ," Edric growled, the thu'um creeping into his voice. "Leave my personal life out of this." The warrior looked at Farkas and took a breath to speak, and Edric barked, "I said leave him out of this!"

Valdimar said with an amazing amount of calm, "I'm trying to make you see reason, my Thane."

"I live my life by reason. I don't need _you_ to be the voice of it, and I don't need that old woman meddling in my affairs."

"She's trying to save your life. We both are."

"I've been saving my own hide just fine so far, and I'll continue to do so. I measure every risk I take. I know what the fuck I'm doing."

Valdimar's mouth twisted under his mustache as he and Edric glared at each other. Farkas had to admit he was pretty damn impressed by the man's ability to stand up to Edric, who made even Skjor quake in his boots a little bit when he got angry. The thing was...Farkas could see Valdimar's points. Farkas wanted his mate to be safe and protected. Edric was good, pretty much the best, but accidents happened. They already had.

He ventured in a meek tone, "What if he-" Edric turned the glare on him, and he mumbled, "Come on, don't be like that. I was just...I was going to say...maybe he could stay in Breezehome."

"Nooo," Edric drawled in a sour tone. He jabbed his finger at Valdimar and went on in the same tone, "No. You want to go south with me next year, knock yourself out. Until then, I don't need your services."

"I'm sorry my Thane, but I believe you do."

Edric's mouth twisted. "All right then. I order you to not follow me to Whiterun."

Valdimar closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head, then he bowed and said in a frosty voice, "As you wish, my Thane."

Edric turned on his heel and walked away, and Farkas looked at the housecarl with an expression of apology then went after his mate.

It was clear how angry Edric was from the tension in his shoulders and the way he snapped his hood into place. The weather was turning foul, like it was a mirror to the Dragonborn's mood, the drizzle turning into a foggy rain that screwed with visibility. That was dangerous when you were trying to find a solid path through marshland.

They passed the sawmill, none of the workers noticing them go by. They followed the path out of town, which was easy enough to follow for now, and stony enough to keep their feet from sinking. That would have put Edric into an even fouler mood. The conversation probably would have gone okay if Valdimar hadn't brought up Ralof. That was always guaranteed to set off Edric, but even worse the housecarl had then added Farkas into the mix. There was no way that could've gone well.

Not quite fifteen minutes outside of town Edric came to an abrupt stop. Farkas waited patiently, wondering if his mate was sensing something he couldn't.

"I shouldn't have been like that with you. I'm sorry."

Confused, Farkas thought for a moment. Edric had been grumpy, sure, but Farkas hadn't taken it personally. At least the thu'um was gone from his voice again.

Edric went on, "You were trying to help. I realize that."

"Of course I was, honey. I know you know that. It's not a big deal." Edric deflated as the anger left his frame. Farkas patted his back, and his mate sighed heavily and looked up at him, rain dripping off the hood. "I know you weren't mad at me," Farkas soothed, rubbing under his lover's chin, then he pulled the hood more closely around that sweet face. "How does he know about Kodlak?"

"He doesn't. Idgrod must, somehow. The visions she sees are true, I'll give her that much, when she can see clearly." He stared at Farkas' chest for a moment then sighed heavily and began walking again. "It isn't that it's a bad idea to install Valdimar in Breezehome," he said in a reluctant tone. "I'd have someone to guard my stuff, and he'd be there if I needed him. But I don't need him, and he'd find it hard to let me be. You don't understand what he's like."

"I've got an idea."

"This was just a taste." Edric clucked his tongue. "It isn't that he's disrespectful. He takes his duty very, very seriously. And he admires the old Jarl. Respects the old ways. I mean the _really_ old ways. He uses magic when he fights. Axe in one hand and a spell in the other."

That was surprising. "Like you do."

"Yeah. Spellsword. He's experienced, obviously. Maybe I might even manage to keep this one alive if I took him out. I told him I wasn't taking on any more housecarls. I became Thane here last. I hardly did anything to earn it, either, just the usual random crap I did everywhere else. You guys took care of all the vampires here, not me."

"He went out with us when we took out the main vampire. Mor-something. The one with all the boots."

Edric shook his head, looking baffled. "Boots? What?"

"The head vampire had a boot collection. All kinds of boots. Lined up real nice on shelves and everything."

"That's...incredibly weird." He let out a short laugh. "Hey, if we ruin ours out here, we'll just swing by his place and pick up a new pair."

Farkas chuckled at that. "Yeah."

"But Valdimar. He's a good man. And I _will_ take him with me when it comes time to leave the Companions, because like it or not he's right. But not a day before. I don't want a housecarl always underfoot. I don't want to be waited on. I want to live my life as just me for as long as possible, and right now 'me' is just a Companion and Farkas' boyfriend."

Farkas guffawed at that. "Boyfriend!" As if they were teenagers and each other's first love. That was cute. Edric snickered, and he caught his lover's hand and said, "No, once the bond is done, you'll be my husband."

Edric came to a stop again and looked up at Farkas with big eyes. The word came out breathy, disbelieving. "Husband?"

He had been certain that Edric understood that. He'd been sure of it. He rubbed Edric's hand between both of his and stated, "We'll be moon-wed. That's better than any temple wedding. It's more."

"But… _Farkas_..." His voice rose, and a wolfish whine slipped out. Farkas smiled at him, and he peeped, "But you said…"

"I said I didn't want to get married until you stopped drinking and Vilkas was cured, but I meant wedding-married, like in Riften. And I wasn't sure you would take the blood then. But you did, and we're bonding. When it's done we'll _feel_ married. And we can have a big wedding later, like the kind you didn't get with Ralof, with your mom there and fancy clothes and all that." Because like it or not, it probably would be later. Farkas had the sinking feeling that Vilkas wouldn't agree to getting cured when the time came to free Kodlak. The odds of his twin being reasonable were pretty slim, and they didn't even have a way into the tomb yet to cure anyone. But if they were able to finally get in, maybe Vilkas would be more reasonable once Edric was gone.

"Oh..."

"You told me, a long time ago, well, I mean it wasn't _that_ long ago, but the first time you watched me hunt. You said you and Ralof were married but he didn't feel like a husband to you. Well I'll be a husband to you even if we're not married. We'll be bonded and live together. Being married isn't really anything more than a piece of paper and a ring after that." Edric's expression crumpled, and Farkas feared that he was going to make his mate cry, but the younger man took several deep breaths with his hand over his mouth, staring at their joined hands. "You okay?"

"Just…" Edric's hand fluttered then went back to his mouth. "Just give me a minute," he choked, his voice squeaking a bit.

Oh, but that was cute. Farkas chuckled then cooed, "My cute little husband."

"God _damn_ it, Farkas."

That was definitely his man's weakness, being sweet-talked. He leaned down would have kissed him but the damn helmets were in the way, again. He wished he could just hole up somewhere with his mate, and… well, the obvious, but just be alone together, without anyone else intruding on them, enjoying each other without any interruptions or anywhere to be, with the rest of the world shut out. Just for a little while.

Well, they weren't going to get that chance. Not with the Companions so short-handed. They had tonight to be alone, to hunt together, just the two of them, and then they had to head back, though they would be swinging through Falkreath hold on the way.

Edric gazed up at him, eyes shining. Then those eyes widened, and Farkas cried out in shock as he was shoved sideways. He stumbled and caught himself before he could fall, looking back just in time to see Edric throw up his hands and cast a glowing white spell in front of him in the shape of a shield, seconds before two globs of bright green poison hit it.

A pair of chaurus came skittering through the dead grass, and Farkas shoved his cloak back to grab at his sword, fumbling when his mate shouted a cone of frost, slowing the giant bugs to a crawl. Edric began throwing spikes of ice, and the Companion gave up and stayed out of the way when the first chaurus fell, the second close behind.

"Fucking bugs," Edric growled. "Gods, I hate Hjaalmarch."

Farkas made a sound of agreement. He hadn't run into chaurus often in the marsh, but he'd take these over giant spiders. His mate looked him over and seemed satisfied that he was fine, then went over and pushed over the bigger chaurus with his foot as he removed his gauntlets. Edric ran his hand over the creature's belly then grunted and took out a dagger and began slicing it open.

"What…" Farkas trailed off and a shudder of disgust went through him as Edric began carefully pulling out a...sac of… something. It looked like an internal organ, but it was full of slightly glowing blue balls. Eggs. They were eggs. "Shit honey, does Arcadia really need those?" He could hear the whine in his voice and didn't care. He was whining, because this was just gross.

"No, but Lami will take them. I'm buying a bunch of ingredients from her, and these are worth ten gold each."

"Each?" There were probably fifty eggs there.

"Aye. It'll be a good trade. Don't really feel like hauling these around, but at least they're still in their… whatever this thing is called. Not sure bugs have wombs."

Farkas shook himself all over and had to look away. Bug womb. Gods, that was disgusting. He could still hear the squishy sounds, but at least he didn't have to watch.

He kept watch as his man did whatever he had to do, Farkas wasn't sure what and didn't want to know. It had been foolish of them to get so wrapped up in each other that they hadn't even noticed the bugs approaching. Visibility was shit out here, and the marshes were full of weird shit, and the weather was shit too. Nothing good ever came out of Hjaalmarch. Maybe if they were able to finish bonding out here, then that might be one good thing, but they could've done that anywhere, even back home.

"All right then," Edric said in a decisive tone as he stood.

Farkas looked at him and his hands were covered with bug juice or whatever it was, because it wasn't really blood. The sac had been tied off and the eggs were jiggling around in there in a really nasty way.

His mate grinned at him and held his hands up, waving him over. "Come here love, your little sweetroll needs a kiss."

The bigger man wanted to gag at the thought but couldn't help laughing. "That's so gross, honey," he complained. How he loved it though when his lover joked around.

Edric laughed and shoved the sac of eggs into an oilskin bag. "Yeah, but the alchemist will be glad to have them. Always have to keep your local alchemist happy."

That was certainly true. Most of them were quirky in some way, flat out weird in some cases, but they were always helpful, and for where she lived, Lami was the least odd out of all the ones Farkas had met.

He took out his water skin and helped his man wash off as he asked, "So what are those good for, anyway? The eggs." Maybe the Dragonborn didn't have any patience for alchemy, but he seemed to know a lot about it.

"Make poisons more effective, drain magicka...I think they might be a component in Invisibility potions. Mix them up with vampire dust...poof! Invisible." Edric shook his head. "Tastes nasty as fuck though. I'll stick with the chameleon spell. Doesn't leave me feeling like I just sucked off a vampire."

Farkas guffawed. For someone so cute, his mate sure had a mouth on him.

"So…" Edric dried off his hands on his pants. "I think I'm going to summon a helper. Like I did with Vilkas in Dustman's Cairn. Frost atronach. They don't float like the fire and storm atronachs, so it will help us find our footing out here. They're really damn heavy, so if it doesn't sink we know we're good. And it'll help keep watch."

Farkas felt his nose crinkling up and couldn't stop it, but Edric wasn't meeting his eyes so it didn't matter. "Okay," he grumbled.

"I don't _have_ to."

"If you think it's a good idea, then you should." It was going to be kind of terrifying, but if Vilkas could handle it then so could Farkas. Vilkas had been given a choice, just like Farkas was being given. He felt the nagging urge once again to ask his lover about what had gone on in Dustman's Cairn, and like always he ignored it. He wasn't going there. It would upset Edric and make Farkas pissed off at his twin. Neither of those things was good.

Edric lifted his eyes and searched Farkas' own, and as always the Companion let him see what he wanted to see. He must have been satisfied, because he nodded and turned around, walking about ten feet away.

Farkas folded his arms tightly, his belly fluttering with nerves. He was okay with the shouting, even if it startled him every time, because his mate was Dragonborn and that was what they did. Edric had said that shouting was part of him, and that going without shouting was hard, harder than hiding his face and his name had been. And Farkas was getting used to the spells, even if those still threw him off too.

But this...this was _real_ magic. Sorcery. Edric had always brushed off how much magic he knew. He'd hinted that the College of Winterhold had offered him the job of Archmage, after the big mess up there two years ago. Surely you had to be really, really good at magic to be offered that job? His mate had made it seem like it wasn't a big deal.

This, this was a big deal. He watched his lover gather magic into both hands, arms trembling the slightest bit with what had to be a lot of effort, then Edric threw the magic at the ground in front of him. Farkas stopped himself from stepping back when a dark purple hole in the air appeared. Seconds later a giant made of ice appeared, and when it took several steps forward he couldn't help a soft whimper of fear coming out. It wasn't as big as a real giant, but it was still huge, with a weird pointy head and two long arms, and even from this far away he could feel the cold coming off it.

Fuck, but this was terrifying. Just flat out terrifying.

Edric pointed at the ice giant and ordered, "Stay there." The creature did as it was told, and Edric turned around and walked back to Farkas, his eyes on the bigger man's chest. He clenched his fist then flexed it and reached out and touched Farkas' arm, murmuring, "It won't harm us and will do as it's told. Just don't get close to it. It's so cold it'll harm even us Nords."

Farkas nodded, not taking his eyes off the creature. It stood there hissing with frost, and every so often it would shift around a bit. Like a person would.

"My magicka is pretty depleted right now," Edric went on, "but the atronach will last until it's destroyed or I dismiss it. I know it's creepy, but we could use the extra protection right now."

"Yeah," the warrior whispered. "Okay." He knew that they needed something, after the bugs had nearly gotten them. They should've just brought the damn dog. Too late for that now. He pulled his eyes away from the atronach and looked down at his lover, feeling like a big baby. "I'm sorry," he muttered. He had only ever seen these things at a distance, and usually they were the ones made out of fire, which were still scary but kind of pretty in a way, how they danced around in the air when they weren't trying to kill you. This one was just creepy and horrible. It didn't even have a face.

"Don't be sorry. This is a lot for anyone to take in the first time. These ones are big, too. I never learned the spell to summon a storm atronach. Those are even spookier. Lightning and rocks flying around and crackling. This is just a big chunk of ice. It'll do whatever I tell it to. It'll be useful out here."

"Okay," he repeated. Just a big walking chunk of ice. Sure. He could handle that. He wasn't sure how he was going to sleep tonight with this thing hanging around their camp, but he'd deal with that when the time came. Edric finally lifted his gaze and brought up his hand to rub Farkas' chin, and the big man took his hand and kissed the palm of his glove. He really, really didn't like the atronach, but he'd get used to it. As long as he didn't think of it as a living, thinking creature that hated them both for summoning it he would be okay. Maybe. Hopefully.

* * *

"Can't we get rid of it yet?" Farkas complained. The hissing sound was really getting on his nerves, and it felt like the thing was watching him all the time, even though it had no eyes, even when its back was turned. Sure, it had been useful, smashing frostbite spiders for them so they didn't have to get anywhere near them, keeping sabre cats at a distance. And it had been pretty neat when Edric told it to walk through the water to the other side of a marshy area and its intense cold had made an ice bridge out of the water so they could walk across without getting their feet wet.

But they were setting up camp now, with night falling, and the thought of shifting in front of the atronach made Farkas very unhappy, plus Edric couldn't guarantee that it wouldn't attack them then. He couldn't bear the thought of trying to sleep with it around, either. He just couldn't do it.

"I can send it back to Oblivion," Edric stated in a calm tone. "It isn't a problem, love."

Farkas grumbled and continued setting up the tent, feeling like a little kid. The creature _had_ been useful, and Farkas _had_ felt a little safer with it around, and its presence had sure put a damper on him and his mate making eyes at each other, so there hadn't been any more near misses. They had gone about their day gathering ingredients and spending time together while the atronach constantly watched their surroundings. It wasn't as if he didn't get how useful it was.

He heard a weird sound and glanced over his shoulder to see his mate throw a ball of purple magic at the atronach, and suddenly it was sucked into a purple hole just like the one it came out of. Just like that, the thing was gone, the bitter chill in the air gone along with it. It was still cold, and the fog was clinging to everything, but it was better than it was.

"Better?"

Farkas nodded. "Yeah. Thank you." The tension started to leave him, and he felt Edric lightly bump into his side as the other man helped with the tent.

At least it had stopped raining, for now. They were somewhere north of the vampire lair, and if it had been clear out Solitude would have been visible in the distance. As it was, they couldn't see much farther than a hundred feet, if that. It was kind of nice though. It made it feel like they were the only two people in the world.

As they began to strip off their armor, Farkas cautioned, "Try to stay right next to me, honey. This fog is making me nervous. I don't want us to get separated."

"I'll...try."

His mate's anxiety was pretty obvious, and he rubbed Edric's shoulder and said, "Just make your way back here if we do." This was only Edric's second hunt, and the conditions weren't good, but any longer than this and they would start getting grumpy and snappish. His man nodded, and Farkas laughed and wrapped a strand of dark blond hair around his finger. "Look how curly your hair is," he said with amusement. He hadn't realized Edric's hair would do this with all the moisture in the air.

Edric laughed, "You should've seen my hair when I was little. I looked like a dandelion gone to seed."

"Aw, I bet that was cute." It made Farkas briefly wish that they could have a child of their own blood between them, a little one who was part Edric, part him, maybe a girl with forest green eyes and dark hair, a tall strong daughter who sang like a bird but could throw a punch with the best of them. It was a nice thought, even if it was impossible. Someday, after the war, after they married, they could go to Honorhall Orphanage and find a little one to take in, a weanling. Farkas could retire from the Companions and Edric could slow down and both of them stop beating their bodies to hell with this life. It was nice to dream about.

Soon they were standing shivering and naked, the fog clinging to their skin, and Farkas took his mate's face in his hands, smelling the fear in him. "It's okay," he soothed. "Everything's gonna be fine, you'll see."

"Aela and Skjor aren't here to help," Edric whispered.

"We don't need them. Your beast is just fine. Your first hunt went better than almost anybody's does. You won't hurt me, and even if you get a little rough it's not a big deal and you can just heal it." That didn't seem to help much, but Farkas knew there wasn't any convincing the other man. He kissed his mate's forehead and added, "I'll go first, okay? Then you go right after." It would be better that way, to have Farkas already in wolf form when Edric changed, but that part didn't need to be said.

He backed away and didn't waste any time shifting. There wasn't a point. Edric would forget his fears soon enough.

What little color there was bled away, and by time he caught his breath the smaller male was already changing. It went a little better this time, without his mate fighting the change so hard. The musky smell of wolf filled the air, and when it was done he cautiously approached the other wolf, who was panting on hands and knees, head hanging low.

Farkas gently huffed along his cheek, and the smaller male whined and leaned against him. Some day it wouldn't be so hard for him to become a wolf. Some day he would change as easily as the rest of them did.

They licked each other's muzzles as Farkas reassured him, whining softly, then he urged his mate to his feet and gave him a nudge. Time to hunt.

Hunting the marshes wasn't easy. Game was hard to find in the fog. They came upon a pair of beavers working at a tree, but the animals dashed into the water beyond reach. They had to make do with slaughterfish, which wasn't satisfying at all, the fish bony and the meat hard to get at. But they were together, just the two of them, running side by side, without any annoying packmates to interfere.

When time grew short Farkas began nudging his mate back in the direction of their camp, or the direction he thought it was. It was hard to tell, which was a little worrisome, with no discernable landmarks in the gray mist around them.

Edric responded to the bumps and nudges with a warm growl and bowled over the bigger wolf, to send them rolling in the grass. It was hard to remember any urgency to return to...anywhere at all, when he had his mate on top of him nuzzling at his neck, his body warm and solid. This was how it should be, just the two of them, hunting together, laying together in the grass. He didn't know or care which of them moved first, but soon enough they were moving against each other, and maybe it wasn't like mating with a female, but it was good all the same.

They lay together afterward rubbing cheeks and licking muzzles, and Farkas felt as content as he ever had. Home could wait. The rest of the pack could wait. This was _their_ time, just the two of them, far away from the meddling sister and brothers who didn't understand how important this was.

The change pushed under his skin, and he tried to roll away from his mate but he was held in place with a growl, two strong arms around him as his fur retreated and bones rearranged themselves.

"Edie," he rasped. He nearly got after him for it, for not letting go, but he supposed there was no harm in it, and he had to admit he was warm. Edric held him tighter, whining softly, then a broad tongue was running up his cheek. His mate's breath smelled like fish, and they both reeked like dog and were covered in mud and grass, but Farkas didn't care. He turned in the arms that held onto him and snuggled into the furry body, burying his face in the thick brindled fur around Edric's neck, enjoying the feel of being held by someone bigger than him for a change. The werewolf was being surprisingly gentle, maybe because they'd mated and both felt lazy and happy. Edric wasn't going to stay that way when he changed back and saw how filthy they both were, and there was only brackish water to wash with, but that was a worry for later.

The wolf huffed in his hair, and Farkas moved his hand over the broad back. There was the faintest touch of dragon underneath it all, spicy. Still Edric. The wolf rubbed its cheek on the top of Farkas' head and the Companion butted his head against the underside of Edric's jaw. "I love you," he whispered. The wolf whined and rubbed against his head again, and there it was, that tightening sensation again. Farkas sighed and held on tighter, ignoring how bizarre it seemed that he was snuggling with a werewolf. This was his mate, no matter what form he was in.

The bugle of a bull elk suddenly echoed through the marsh, and Farkas grumbled at the timing. Where had it been half an hour ago? They hadn't even smelled any fresh sign.

The elk called again, closer, and Edric lifted his head and growled low.

"Edie, no," Farkas warned. Gods, that would be bad, for Edric to run off into the marsh alone after game. The werewolf let go of Farkas and rolled to its feet, and Farkas scrambled up to grab his arm. "Edric, no," he barked. "Stay. Stay here."

The wolf seemed conflicted, and Farkas reached up and sank his fingers into the ruff of fur. Edric began to sink back onto his haunches and Farkas breathed a sigh of relief. They couldn't risk it. They were both sort of lost out here, and if they split up it would be a disaster. Edric would change back in another fifteen minutes or so, even farther away from camp than Farkas, and it was cold out here. Nord or not, eventually the chill would catch up to them, and gods help them if they fell in the near-freezing water.

The elk called a third time and Edric surged to his feet, and Farkas grabbed his arm tightly and yelled, "No! Stay! Sit! Edie, sit!" Edric minded worse than Meeko, ignoring him, and Farkas was about to try to tackle him when the sound of hooves on dirt came towards them.

A white elk appeared out of the mist. Farkas let out a loud whine of terror and dropped to his knees, lowering his head. It was several hands taller than a normal elk, its hide ghostly, and its eyes had a faint reddish glow to them. He had never seen anything like it, not in over fifteen years of being a werewolf, but he knew what it was.

Edric's muscles bunched under Farkas' hand, and he whispered, "Edie, don't. _Please_." The elk screamed, daring the wolf to come after it. "Please Edie!" he whimpered.

The elk turned tail and ran, and Edric launched himself after it with a snarl.

Farkas knelt shivering, naked and alone, heart racing, listening to the sounds of the chase retreat into the distance. He squatted down and hugged his legs, terrified. He didn't know what to do. He knew what that elk was. He _knew_. Every werewolf knew. And it, _he_ , had taken Edric.


	38. Chapter 38

_I have to move_.

Farkas hugged his legs tighter, rocking back and forth as he tried to talk himself down from the panic that filled him. It was bad enough, being scared for himself. He was alone out here in the cold, the fog closing in around him, leaving him with little idea of where their camp was. It would have been okay if Edric were here, because his mate had assured him that he never got lost, because he knew a spell that always pointed him to where he needed to go. But Edric wasn't here.

Because Hircine took him.

He whined then clamped down on it. He didn't want to draw attention to himself, because if a predator came for him now he was fucked. He couldn't shift for another full day. He had no protection at all, not even clothing against the cold.

He held his breath and strained to hear anything at all out in the fog. It seemed to muffle what little sound there was, which was only the occasional insect buzzing or some small animal going into the water. He didn't think he had ever felt as alone as he did right now, though if he tried he could feel that thread of a connection with his mate, just enough to know Edric was out there and alive. He had to hold onto that for all he was worth.

He just didn't, couldn't, understand what Hircine wanted with Edric. And it wasn't like that was really Hircine himself, just a...whatever it was, a tiny piece of Hircine. Someone had told him once, or maybe he'd overheard it somewhere, that Daedric Princes couldn't come into the real world, not all the way, but he couldn't remember why that was. Edric would know. But Edric wasn't here.

Edric wasn't here, and Farkas had no idea when he'd ever be back.

He shivered, feeling the cold starting to get to him. Nord or not, he couldn't stay out here or he'd be dead or close to it by morning, but if he tried to find their camp he could get lost even worse, or sink into the marsh and get stuck in the mud, or fall in the water and freeze even faster. His balls were just about up inside his body as it was and his jaw was starting to ache from clenching it. He _had_ to move, even if it was just for the sake of keeping warm.

The howl of a wolf cut through the silence, and it wasn't just any wolf, the distant rumble of thunder trailing off behind it. It was far away, though how far was impossible to tell with the way sound carried in the mist. The howl sounded again, miserable and maybe even afraid. Calling out.

Farkas shot to his feet and cupped his hands around his mouth and howled back, and maybe it wasn't as loud and wolfish as it would have been if he was changed, but the sound carried.

A minute later the wolf called again, a little closer, and Farkas answered, pacing in a circle to try to stay warm. It went like that, calling back and forth, until after about five or six minutes the howls stopped on the other end. Farkas kept calling out, giving Edric something to follow, holding onto that thread between them to tell him his mate was all right. Edric had changed back by now, he had to have, unless he had managed to feed again at some point.

A glowing blue line suddenly shot out of the dark toward him, and he yelped and jumped away from it. He'd heard legends of will o' wisps in the marshes but had never seen one, and this didn't look like a glowing white ball. He didn't know what in Oblivion it was, but he wasn't letting it touch him.

The line winked out then came towards him again, following him no matter where he moved, and he growled in fearful anger and finally gave up and stood still. It wasn't hurting him, but who knew what the fuck it was. He was so sick of this goddamn marsh that he was never setting foot in it again, and not even Edric could make him.

An orange glow began to show through the fog, coming towards him, and Farkas whimpered, "What now!"

He heard a splashing sound then the sound of running feet. _Please let it be Edric_ , he prayed. He wasn't sure who he was praying to. Not Hircine, that was for damn sure. This was the Lord of the Hunt's goddamn fault.

A fire atronach came dancing out of the darkness, and before Farkas could panic all over again he saw his mate running behind it.

"Edie!" he cried. Edric ran straight to him and nearly knocked him over, holding him so tightly with one arm that he could hardly breathe. "What happened! Gods, I was so worried!" He petted his mate's hair, the strands matted together with the fog and...blood. Edric reeked of blood. Human blood. Farkas smelled something else too, something he had never really smelled before, not like this. It wasn't just werewolf blood, and it wasn't human either. It had a strong metallic tang, more so than regular blood.

No, he had smelled it before. He had smelled it the day the Dragonborn had taken him to look at that trapped dragon in Dragonsreach. The red dragon had been wounded. It was dragon blood he smelled.

Edric must have felt him stiffen up, because he whispered, "Later."

"But you're hurt!"

"Not bad."

All Farkas could do was take his word for it. It was too dark to see, even with the atronach dancing around them. At least the thing was keeping them warm.

Edric pulled away and raised his hand to cast a spell, and the blue line shot out, and not in the direction he had thought camp was, either. So that was how Edric had found him. It made him feel foolish for reacting as he had, but how was he supposed to know at the time? The Dragonborn took his hand and started walking, unspeaking, his grip too tight, but Farkas wasn't going to complain. His mate was here and alive. Edric was favoring his left side, right hand clamped over it, and the Companion had to ignore it for now. There was nothing he could do to help him.

They had to wade through cold water full of muck and dead weeds, but the fire atronach gave off so much heat that getting warm again wasn't a problem. And that thing was sticking around, too, Farkas didn't give a damn what it was. It would be hard to build a fire out here, and the atronach was made out of fire, and it probably never slept, so it could keep watch all night and keep them warm at the same time. He had no problem with that.

When they made it back to camp, Edric moved to crawl into their tent without washing, and that was when Farkas knew it was serious. "Honey, let me take a look, please," he pleaded as he stopped him. Edric hesitated, then he sighed and let Farkas turn him around to use the light from the atronach to see his left side.

Farkas sucked in a breath to see blood caked on his mate's fingers, heart pounding with fear all over again. He gently pulled Edric's hand away and saw a two-inch wound there, below his ribs. Something sharp, not a sword or dagger but an arrow or a small spear, had gone into Edric's left side, not far enough in to pierce an organ, thank the Nine. It didn't seem to be bleeding much any longer, which was good, but how in Oblivion had he gotten it in the first place?

Edric whispered, "Can we…not talk about this? Please, Farkas."

 _What happened to you!_ he nearly yelled. He wanted to grab his mate by the shoulders and demand that Edric tell him what happened. But he wasn't like that, and it wouldn't help. Instead he said, "It needs to be stitched-"

" _No_." Edric sounded horrified by the prospect. Maybe with his magic he had never needed stitches before. No, that wasn't right. He'd gotten his legged stitched up, when Vilkas wounded him. But surely it hadn't been that bad, having it done?

"Okay, but just...let me clean you up a bit, sweetheart, please?" Farkas softly pleaded.

"Aye."

He reached just inside the tent to their packs and got out soap and a washcloth, and maybe the water from the skin was cold but he was able to get the worst of the filth and blood off his man, though the hair was hopeless. He bandaged the wound with some salve and bundled Edric into the bedroll then gave himself a quick wash as well. All the while the flame atronach drifted in a lazy circle around the perimeter of the camp, every so often doing a gentle flip in midair. He could hear it burning, and as he got into the bedroll behind his lover he told himself it was just a campfire he was hearing.

Edric clutched Farkas' arm, shivering, and the bigger man petted him and murmured, "It's okay, honey." Edric shook his head, the trembling growing worse. Farkas didn't know what to say. Edric didn't want to talk about what happened, and the Companion feared the worst, that Edric had killed someone. The marsh folk were out there, and he smelled like human blood-

Edric threw the top of the bedroll back and bolted from the tent, and when Farkas heard vomiting outside he realized it was even worse than he'd thought.

Heart aching, he got a tin mug and filled it with water and went after his mate. Edric was bent over emptying his stomach, clutching his left side, and Farkas decided not to look at what was coming up. It happened to everyone sooner or later, and it was just bad luck that it had happened so soon to Edric. No, not bad luck. _Hircine_. This was the Lord of the Hunt's doing, pure and simple.

He didn't say a word, just stood silently by until Edric finished, while the atronach floated around in circles, uncaring. He pulled his man close and put the mug to his lips, and Edric took it from him and washed his mouth out then drank. He was still trembling, but there was tension there now. One look at Edric's face in the orange light coming from the atronach and Farkas felt a tremor of uneasiness go through him. Edric was glaring into the foggy darkness, his lips pursed and eyes wild.

"I'm going to fucking _end_ him," the Dragonborn hissed. "I don't care if it takes me the next fifty years."

Farkas swallowed and stayed silent. He didn't dare ask what happened, or how his mate intended to do anything to Hircine. Edric was _furious_. Enraged. It wasn't hard to guess that somehow the Daedric lord had pushed him into killing and eating someone, maybe by leading him into a group of marshlanders. Hircine operated by his own sense of fairness, and he had probably thought it sporting to pit a werewolf against the folk's hunters. Farkas could only pray that Edric had only gotten the one that wounded him and hadn't laid waste to the entire group.

Edric said nothing more, and Farkas wordlessly herded him back into the tent and made him lie down on his right side. Neither spoke a word, and sleep was a long time coming. Farkas rubbed his mate's back, careful of the wound, and it took what seemed like hours for the tension to ease up. He could just about hear Edric's thoughts turning at a mile a minute in the dark. Better that Edric was angry at Hircine than himself. Aela, Skjor and Farkas had all made it clear that what was done under the moons had to stay there, but he seriously doubted that Edric was going to accept that.

Morning came much too soon, but they weren't in any rush to get going. Farkas lay there getting his bearings, listening to the fire burning outside. Fire. They'd never made a fire.

He came fully awake as he remembered the atronach, and last night's disaster. The bedroll next to him was cold, but Edric usually woke first to do his morning prayers.

Farkas looked outside and his mate was indeed praying, on his knees facing southeast, towards the Throat of the World. He had on the fur pants and doublet that went under the wolf armor, and he was swaying, eyes closed and the dragon tongue on his lips, his amulet of Kynareth clutched in his hands. The atronach floated nearby, crackling and smelling of sulfur. It had more of a face than the frost atronach had, but Farkas still couldn't tell if it was keeping watch or not.

He left his man to it and went about getting dressed and putting together something for breakfast, knowing it wouldn't disturb Edric any when he was like that, and he probably really needed it this morning, even if he no longer felt the Divine's blessing. Edric was stubborn as hell and wasn't going to let the lack of a goddess' approval stop him from doing what he wanted.

Edric's whispered prayers fell silent around the time that Farkas had put together trail rations for breakfast, and when he looked over at his lover he saw the other man climbing to his feet, grimacing as he held his left side.

"We should stay here another day," Farkas found himself saying. He wanted nothing more than to leave this godsforsaken place, but not with Edric hurt.

"I'm good," Edric grunted as he came over.

"Yeah, I'll be the judge of that. Let me see." His mate grumbled and pulled open the doublet, and Farkas knelt down and unwrapped the bandages to took a good look at the injury in the light of day. It had bled some overnight, maybe from the throwing up, but it looked clean, the wound puckered up, the edges closed. It probably should have been stitched and would leave an ugly scar, but it was too late now to do anything about it. At least the weapon hadn't been silver. "You gonna tell me what happened?" he asked in protective anger, his hands grabbing his lover's hips to keep him where he was. Edric shuddered, and Farkas added, "This wasn't your fault."

"I chased the elk," Edric rasped. "Into a settlement. There was just one hunter standing guard. He got me with a spear. I realized where I was and turned and ran. He chased after me to finish me off. I killed him. I don't think anyone else saw me, or...or what happened, but…"

But they would find the remains. That didn't need to be said. Farkas glanced sideways and whatever Edric had thrown up last night had been buried. There wouldn't be anything recognizable as human in the mess, but it was still nothing Edric would want to look at.

Edric's voice shook as he went on, "It was fucking unnecessary. He was guarding his people. He probably had a family, he didn't deserve-" His voice broke.

"Not your fault," Farkas repeated, trying not to snarl. He hated this, and at the moment he hated Hircine more than he had thought possible. His mate made a miserable whining noise, and Farkas couldn't help growling as he rubbed his thumbs over Edric's hipbones. He looked up at the other man and repeated, "This wasn't your fault!"

"But what if it happens again! What if I can't control myself!"

"You did control yourself. You saw people and ran, even after you were hurt. The guy chased after you. I know it isn't what you want to hear, but he wounded you and ran you off, and he could've woken everyone else up, but instead he chased after you alone into the marsh." Edric looked even more distressed, staring out over Farkas' head with his face crinkled up. The Companion got to his feet and took his man's head in his hands to force him to look up. "Hey," he said more forcefully. "You've gotta stop this, okay? You can't live like this, always being afraid of yourself. It's awful what happened, but we're just going to have to be more careful about where we hunt." Farkas grumbled in regret. "I worried about this, before we hunted. That we might run into the marsh people. They move around and you never know where they are. I should've known better."

Edric whimpered and moved into his arms, and Farkas held the back of his head with one hand as he rubbed his back, trying to comfort him. He didn't know what else to say to help.

"You said it happens to everyone," Edric whispered, "but I should've been better than that."

The warrior clucked his tongue and shook his head. Of course the Dragonborn thought he was supposed to do everything better. How the hell he thought he was supposed to be a better werewolf was beyond Farkas. "Maybe talk to Skjor about this when we get back," Farkas suggested. "Not Aela. I know she's your forebear, but she won't be any help with this." The Huntress would shrug and basically say that shit happened and that at least the marshlander had died in the hunt. She wouldn't understand and would only make things worse. Skjor at least was practical and had enough empathy to help Edric work it out a little.

"Aye."

"You ran away when you saw people, even wounded. That's a good thing, sweetheart. You're not a wild wolf. Not at all." He kissed his lover's forehead then tilted Edric's face up to look him in the eyes. "I love you and this isn't your fault," he insisted.

"I love you too," he mumbled. His lower lip stuck out in that way that turned Farkas into a puddle.

"Until we get home, you're gonna have to let me take the lead. We still have one more job to do. You aren't stitched up and you'll pull that wound open if you aren't careful. Stay back and use magic or your bow." He considered keeping the atronach once they left the marshes, but you couldn't just ride around Skyrim with one of those things and not ask for trouble, plus it would scare the shit out of Meeko and the horses. "You sure you want to head back today?"

"Aye. I want out of this fucking place, and I'm never coming back."

"Me neither, honey." He kissed Edric's forehead again and began to move away, but his man pulled him back and held him tightly, forehead pressed into the crook of Farkas' neck.

"I love you so much," Edric whispered. "I don't know what I would do without you, Farkas. I don't."

 _Let yourself get killed, probably_ , he thought with a twinge of fear as he wrapped his arms around his man's shoulders. He didn't know how other mated couples did this, knowing their sanity and maybe their life depended on each other so much. One hunt gone bad and the other was left with half their heart and soul torn out, and it was worse for him and Edric. In their line of work death was always over their shoulders, and before he knew it Edric was going to leave Skyrim for war in the south.

He sighed heavily and added, "I loved you from the first time I saw you, you know that? You saved my life and in the morning I saw your face and that was it, I knew you were the one for me. We're in this together, you and me." He felt a nod against his neck.

"Aye," Edric whispered. "You and me."

"Yeah."

"Ah, Farkas…"

They held each other tightly, Farkas careful not to bump his mate's wound. He tried not to think about it much at all or the fear and anger came back. Edric still reeked of blood and the marsh, and Farkas didn't smell so great either. Maybe he could convince his lover to spend an extra day at the inn, resting and healing up. Edric did heal unnaturally fast, faster than even a werewolf, so maybe with the beastblood he would be fine in another day. Fine enough, anyway.

The walk back to Morthal was slow, weighted down as they were with alchemy ingredients, especially those nasty eggs, and with Edric wounded as he was. Farkas insisted on carrying everything and his mate wouldn't hear of it, and they finally compromised and Edric summoned the skeleton horse to carry their gear. It was as terrifying at first as the atronachs, maybe worse in some ways for being dead and creepy, but Edric assured him it wasn't necromancy. It was even creepier when Arvak whinnied and tossed its head, like a real live horse, and worse yet, his mate rubbed the horse's skull and treated it like a pet. Farkas wasn't going to go anywhere near it, but it didn't smell like death, didn't smell like much of anything at all other than bones and ozone, and as long as it stayed on Edric's other side Farkas could mostly ignore it.

As the lumber mill came into sight Edric let Farkas take most of their gear and dismissed the horse and the atronach. The people here were anxious enough as it was over that Falion guy that lived here, Jonna's brother, without adding to it.

They crossed the bridge into town, and the guard there took one look at them and asked in dismay, "What in Oblivion happened to you two?" He paused then looked Edric over and added, "You look like a horker rolled over you. Uh, no offense, Dragonborn."

"Fucking werewolves," Edric muttered. "Pair of them came into our camp last night, hunting."

"Stendarr's mercy," the guard whispered. "It's been ages since we've seen any in these parts. First the vampires, now this?"

Edric shook his head. "We took them out. I doubt there's a pack roaming around out there. They were pretty mangy looking. Half-starved. I wouldn't expect any others to show up, but keep an eye out."

"I should tell the Jarl." He bobbed his head. "Thank you, Companions. Bless the Nine that you were out there."

The guard ran off, and Farkas followed his mate to the inn. He never would have thought to say any of that, but once Edric had it was obvious what a good idea it was. The marsh folk might report the death of their hunter to the Jarl, who they somewhat looked to for protection and what passed for justice out here. And if anyone had heard the howling they would have been able to hear the difference and know that two wolves had been out there. Edric spoke with such convincing authority in his voice that no one would question what had happened. Farkas hoped.

Jonna took one look at them and hurried to prepare a room and a bath. Meeko came bounding towards them, tongue hanging from his mouth, bounding around in excitement. Farkas stopped the dog from jumping on Edric, but the Dragonborn was happy to see Meeko, a smile touching his mate's face for the first time since early yesterday.

The dog refused to be separated from them after that, and they allowed it to come into the room with them. A loyal companion indeed. It sniffed them with interest, a little too much interest, as they undressed and bathed, but a quiet order from Edric had the hound moving back to lie down and watch them.

They ate dinner in near silence, Edric stewing all over again as he stared at the fire, and Farkas left him to it. As they went to bed Meeko flopped down on the Dragonborn's side, on the floor, staying by his masters. It was cute, even if the dog was a bit smelly. It didn't hurt to have another set of ears and eyes standing guard, and Meeko was a lot more comfortable to have around than an atronach.

Fooling around was the last thing on either man's mind, and Farkas was more than happy to just lie there and pet each other and run fingers through Edric's hair, now that it was clean.

He awoke first, not a common occurrence, his heart pounding as the nightmare faded. The last thing he had seen was Edric falling to his knees with a spear in his side, blood pouring from the wound and his mouth. Farkas hadn't had a bad dream in so long he couldn't remember when it had been.

He rolled over to look at his man by the gray morning light that came through the two small windows. Edric was lying on his right side, frowning in his sleep, his eyes moving back and forth beneath the lids. He let out a small whimper as a foot twitched, and Farkas hoped that his mate wasn't dreaming about what had happened in the marshes. It wouldn't be fair for both of them to have bad dreams, though the Dragonborn had a lot more material for bad dreams than Farkas did.

Edric's hand clenched as another whimper sounded, and Farkas reached over to take it. His lover's expression smoothed out, as if he sensed the contact. Gods, but that dream had been terrifying, knowing how close Edric had come to getting killed, again. He watched his mate breathe and tried to push the fear away, but it was hard, really damn hard. Either one of them could die at any point, on a hunt or on a job. Farkas had nearly died the night they met. And that hadn't been a big deal before. Before Edric. He hadn't cared at all before falling in love whether the next job sent him to the Hunting Grounds or not. Of course he would've preferred staying alive, but it hadn't really been something he worried about, other than making his brother sad.

Now another person's life hung on his. Next time it might be Farkas that got badly hurt, or even killed. He was in great shape, but he wasn't getting any younger. Reflexes slowed, and the wear and tear on his body started to add up. He wasn't old, but Edric was young, barely thirty. He had so much living yet to do. His life shouldn't have to end because Farkas' did. And it would. He knew his mate had been serious when he vowed that a couple days ago.

Well there wasn't anything to be done about any of that but be careful. They'd have to limit their hunts to their home territory and just work around it. He didn't have a clue how Edric would manage once he left, but Farkas had to trust that the Dragonborn really did have all that worked out.

He held Edric's hand to his mouth and lightly kissed it, every knuckle, and the other man sighed in his sleep and stirred. Farkas slid close and put his arm over his mate, careful of the healing wound. He had put clean bandages on it last night but he wanted to take another look before they dressed, just to make sure it was healing okay. Werewolves couldn't get infections, any more than they could get sick, but if he didn't check it would bother him all day.

Edric's eyes opened, pretty sparkling silver, with a ring of darker silver around the edges. Farkas sat up on his elbow and his mate gave him a sleepy smile, the prettiest sight anyone could ask for.

"Mmm," Edric murmured. "Well isn't this nice to wake up to." He lifted his hand to stroke Farkas' cheek. He searched the bigger man's eyes as he scratched his fingers through the dark beard. "Ah, love," he sighed. "Still worrying?"

"Yeah," Farkas said with a nod, voice rough. "I just...everything feels so…" He gestured with his hand, looking for the word. Fragile. That was it. One misstep would be all it took for everything to fall apart, for either of them. "I had a dream that you...well, it was really damn awful."

He made a sound of sympathy. "I'm sure it was. But I'm still here." He put his other hand on Farkas' other cheek, holding his mate's face. "I told you what Alduin did to me. I laid at the top of the mountain freezing to death, my face burned off-"

"Shit, honey!" Why did Edric feel the need to tell him something that awful, this early in the morning?

"My right eye was gone," Edric persisted. "My nose and cheekbone were broken. My left leg and hip were ruined, I had internal injuries. All of that would have killed anyone else, and I know it's hard to hear all this awful shit, but none of that killed me. I laid there for an hour willing myself to die, unable to move, until the Greybeards found me. I don't know what it would take to kill me, Farkas. I really don't." He gave Farkas' face a gentle shake. "As long as I want to live, I will. It's that simple. And I can't remember the last time I didn't want to."

Farkas nodded, his eyes stinging. "Okay," he whispered. How could he not believe it after hearing that? He smiled and leaned down and kissed his man, and Edric responded as he always did, though Farkas put a hand on his hip to keep him from moving, so he didn't strain the wound. He would have been content to not do anything this morning, but it was what his mate wanted, and what Edric wanted Edric got. Farkas moved down his body then took him in his mouth, slow and gentle, trying to make it every bit as good as the first time he had done this.

He didn't let his lover return the favor, taking care of the matter himself as they kissed, and as they lay catching their breath Farkas swore he could feel Edric there, not just the thin thread but a faint presence. Edric was _there_.

"Farkas," Edric's eyes widened as he whispered the older man's name. "It's there!"

"Yeah, I feel it," Farkas replied just as quietly. He let out a soft laugh and petted Edric's hair back from his forehead, feeling their eyes drawn together again and again. If only they could have this done before they went home. If they were fully bonded then they would feel each other when they were apart. They wouldn't get pulled into Aela's spring heat, and Vilkas might stop watching Edric like he was a tasty piece of game. Maybe. Hopefully.

"Maybe...we could stay another day," Edric suggested. He smirked and added, "I'm gravely wounded, you know."

"Yeah, of course, honey." Farkas doubted the wound was bad enough at this point to make it necessary, but staying would help him feel better about it healing. They could stay holed up here warm and cozy and waited on. He didn't need a whole lot of pressure to cave in to that. He kissed Edric again, then the dog whined loudly and pawed at the door.

Farkas rolled away from his mate and pulled on some pants then let the dog out of the room. Jonna came upstairs, looking sleepy, and after he let the dog outside he said to her, "We're gonna stay until tomorrow."

She brightened up and said, "Oh, yes! Yes, Companion, of course!" She pulled her apron on then patted her hair into place. "Breakfast?"

"Yeah. Thanks. The dog too."

He waited for Meeko, not sure how long dogs took to take a piss, or the other. Hopefully the dog wasn't taking a shit in the middle of the street. That would be embarrassing, and the thought of cleaning it up was not good. Not that he was going to.

As he let the dog in he saw Edric leaving their room, in a pair of pants and one of Farkas' shirts. The sight made him smile, though it was a lot cuter when his man didn't have any pants on underneath. Meeko flopped down by the fire, looking happy, and as Farkas joined the dog he saw Edric set a coinpurse on the counter. Jonna took it and peeked inside, then her eyes widened.

"We don't want _anyone_ bothering us, short of the Jarl herself," Edric ordered. "Especially Valdimar."

"Yes, Dragonborn," she agreed. "Absolutely!" She swept the small bag into the pocket of her apron then set about making breakfast, humming happily to herself.

Edric pulled up a chair by his mate and put his bare feet on the edge of the fire pit. "Just one day," he said in a firm tone of voice. "Then we'll go."

"Okay," Farkas agreed. He reached out and pulled the other chair closer so that they were butting up against each other, making his mate laugh, then he leaned over and put his arm around Edric. It felt good to relax for a little bit. Maybe after eating they could go over to Lami's and turn in the chaurus eggs and buy whatever Arcadia needed that they hadn't been able to find, then come back and take off all their clothes and get back into bed. He didn't even want to fool around, really, just snuggle with his man and pet each other and talk. Just for one day.

One more day didn't seem much to ask.

* * *

"Edie," Farkas groaned as the man on top of him slowed down again. "Please," he begged, while not really meaning it at all.

Edric laughed, breathless, and the bigger man opened his eyes again. The Dragonborn was flushed, all the way down to his chest, muscles in his torso flexing as he rode Farkas. They had never done this before, but damn if they weren't going to do it again someday, because this was better than...anything. Anything at all. He wasn't one for playing games in bed, but he had to admit that having his wrists pinned above his head against the wall was pretty damn exciting, and Edric's face was right there, in front of his own, the two of them eye-to-eye, unable to look away for more than a few seconds at a time.

The pace picked up again, and this time there was no stopping it. He didn't spare a thought for the innkeeper as he yelled in release, or for the thunder in his mate's voice as he found his own. An echo of intense pleasure sang through him, mirroring his, making it hard to tell whose it was. It all mixed together, strong and hot and perfect.

Edric let go of his hands, and he ignored the prickly feeling in them as he ran them up his mate's back, slick with sweat. "Edie," he murmured, loving him so much in that moment that he could hardly stand it.

"Mm, Farkas," he replied, leaning close to swipe his tongue across Farkas' bottom lip then kiss him deeply. "Dibella's tits, that was good."

"Yeah. Real good." Edric smiled at him, and a swell of warm love filled him. His mate's skin was covered with goosebumps, and the Dragonborn was happy. Purely happy. And so was Farkas, and they both knew it.

Edric whispered, "This isn't what I thought it would be."

"Me neither. But I like it." It wasn't like he hadn't felt complete in himself before, but now there was someone else there too. It was _more_ , but it wasn't...he couldn't think of the word, but it wasn't in the way, or taking up all his attention. It was just _there_ , in the background, like the touch of a hand on his back, light and comforting.

"Ah Farkas. Me too. So much." He took Farkas' face in his hands and stroked his cheekbones with his thumbs then leaned their foreheads together. " _Miingi?_ "

"Yeah?"

"I don't have a damn clue what day it is."

Farkas sighed and admitted, "Me neither." They had been holed up in this room for days, leaving only to eat and care for the dog. Farkas couldn't say what had started it, only that one day had somehow turned into another, then another. Dibella only knew what Jonna thought, but they were paying her well and the service had been good, and no one had bothered them, not even Valdimar. No one else had rented a room here, because nobody in their right mind came to Morthal, so they'd had the place to themselves, and all they had done for...days, he had no idea how many, was eat, sleep, talk and have sex, over and over again. The whole time was one big, long, happy blur.

It had been worth it though, as he felt his mate's presence fill him, covering gaps he hadn't known he had. Edric was just so... _there_ , but not too much, and Farkas knew that it would continue to feel that way no matter how far apart they were. This had been it, too, this last round of lovemaking, the moment that had finally made the bond between them solid. Finished. The urgency was fading and reality was trickling back in, not all that welcome, but they couldn't stay here any longer. He didn't think it had been more than three days, but he wouldn't want to put money on it either.

He pushed Edric back enough to check the wound, afraid it had pulled open with Edric doing all the work, but it was mostly a wrinkled scab at this point. He didn't feel any pain from his mate, but then he wasn't really sure how this worked. He thought Aela had said they would only feel really strong emotions, so it was good he wasn't sensing any pain, but sweet merciful Dibella it had been good to feel his mate climax like that, and surely Edric had felt the same thing from him.

Edric laughed as Farkas twitched inside him, and he kissed his man then made a face and climbed off. The tub from that night's bath was still there, though the water was cold, and Edric tossed a damp cloth to Farkas then washed himself.

"We'll leave in the morning," Edric said with a nod.

"Sounds good to me," Farkas agreed. It was after dinner and sleep sounded really good right now. "Are you hungry?"

"Nah. Just sleepy."

"Yeah, me too." It was a bit early yet, but they could just get started earlier tomorrow that way. He joined his mate at the tub to wash. No sense getting the sheets any dirtier than they already were.

Edric finished up then rose to his feet, his left knee creaking and popping, then he let the dog in. Meeko ran around the room sniffing everything then settled on Farkas' side of the bed, the dog seeming to prefer one master as much as the other anymore, maybe because their scents were so intertwined now. Farkas slid close to Edric, then he felt a spike of pain that took his breath away. Edric barely reacted, rolling off his left side onto his right.

"What was that?" Farkas whispered with worry. It hadn't been actual pain he had felt, so much as feeling an echo of it from Edric.

"My hip. It's nothing."

"Like hell it isn't!" Edric sighed, and Farkas pressed, "How often does that happen?"

The Dragonborn rubbed his arm. "Not often." He paused then amended, "Once in a while. It isn't a big deal, love, truly. It happens. It will keep happening."

"It's because of how we were doing it, isn't it." It wasn't the first time that he'd taken Edric and his man's hip had hurt afterward. It had really been Edric who had done the taking this time, no matter who was inside who, but Farkas could see how that position would put stress on his hip.

"Yes, but I'm hardly going to stop." Farkas could almost hear the rolling of Edric's eyes.

They lay silently, Edric running his fingers along Farkas' arm, and Farkas let his worry go and focused instead on how happy he was. They had really done it, him and Edric. They were a real mated couple. It was all finally done. "I can't believe we're moon-wed now," he whispered in realization.

"I suppose we are," Edric replied in a tone of wonder.

Farkas gently squeezed his mate and kissed the back of his head. "You're my husband, and I'm yours," he said in delight, and he felt an answering flutter of joy from his man.

Edric whispered, "My husband." He took in a shuddering breath. "Never thought I would get the chance to say that again."

A tiny pang of grief got through, and it had to be from Edric because Farkas was fine. He was glad that Edric could still feel that loss, even with what was between them now. Just because they were bonded didn't erase what came before, or make the love that Edric had for his first husband any less. "When we get to Riverwood, we should have someone make a new marker," he suggested. "For Ralof. Maybe give Gerdur the money to have it done."

His mate squeezed his arm. "Aye. That's a good idea, love." He lifted Farkas' hand to kiss his knuckles then pulled it to his chest.

It went quiet after that, though Farkas was certain that Edric's mind was still turning a mile a minute. He thought about sliding over to the other side so they could be face to face, but he loved how Edric fit inside the curve of his body. He had ever since that first morning when he had woken up to find the other man in his arms. He thought Edric liked it too. Even if the Dragonborn could take care of himself, that didn't mean it wasn't nice when other people did it too. Edric had been reliant on only himself for much too long. If Farkas could make it easier for him in any way, even if it was just in little ways, then he was more than happy to do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've mentioned it before, but I'm one of those that mentally attaches songs to my fics. One of the songs that for me really goes with this story (and inspired parts of this chapter) is 'Sirens' by Pearl Jam. It's a really moving song with beautiful lyrics that I find fitting for Farkas' thoughts and feelings here.


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I just posted something last night, but this was ready to go, sort of a little filler chapter, and, well, it's the New Year.

"Well that was boring," Edric complained.

Farkas grunted in agreement. He had to wonder why the Jarl of Falkreath had even bothered to send the Companions on this job when a farmer with a pointy stick could've taken the place. Bannermist Tower had contained all of two twitchy bandits and hardly any loot. The only bonus to the side trip had been stumbling upon a hunters' cabin yesterday as they approached the ruin from the north. The hunters had been friendly and more than happy to share their fire with two Companions for the night and part with some meat for a bit of gold. They were poachers, of course, but it wasn't as if Edric or Farkas cared. No Jarl had the right to keep people from feeding themselves.

"We're not gonna have time to collect the pay in Falkreath," Farkas said in sudden realization. They were several days behind schedule from their time bonding in Morthal and they needed to get home as soon as possible. Farkas didn't want to think too hard about what his twin had been doing while they were gone. He wanted to believe that Skjor and Aela had kept a close eye on him, but maybe with Edric not around Vilkas had halfway behaved himself.

"Eh, let them have it for free," Edric said without concern. "It's hardly as if it was any sort of challenge. If Skjor fusses about the pay I'll cover it myself."

That seemed reasonable. Well his mate was usually pretty reasonable.

They collected their horses and Meeko, who was a good boy and had stayed put, and headed back towards the road.

It was a gloomy day, threatening to rain again, a bite to the air that hadn't been there a week ago. When winter moved in it would do it fast, and it sure felt like it could be any day now. Whiterun rarely got more than a dusting of that dry pellet snow that just swirled around the streets and wasn't any good for snowballs, but every once in a while a storm would move through and dump half a foot or more of the wetter stuff, only for it to be gone a week later.

They rode over the bridge by Half-Moon Mill, hearing the water wheel creaking as one of the owners ran the saw. It was good to see it running again; during the war it had been barely operational.

"What…" Edric rubbed at his nose then covered it. "God damn it," he complained. "Not again."

Farkas shook his head, not getting it, and he had to wonder if his mate's sense of smell was better than his when the rank odor hit his nose. He put his arm out and Edric came to a stop, and Meeko began growling. "Vampire," Farkas whispered. He would know that smell anywhere, the iron reek of old blood underlaid with something sweet-sour. Edric surely had smelled it before, but not with the senses of a werewolf that brought in a lot more layers and types of smell, and a lot more of it.

Edric raised his hand and gathered dark bluish-purple magic into it and scanned around them, and his eyes narrowed as he looked back towards the mill. "Two back at the mill moving around," he whispered. "And a bunch of bodies, it looks like. Shit."

"The owners?"

"Could be. Or they killed the owners and took the mill. Why a vampire would want to become a lumberjack is beyond me, but I've seen weirder things."

They rode further down the road, calling to Meeko to keep him moving. The last thing either of them wanted was their dog getting hurt or killed. Farkas didn't know if a dog could catch vampirism but he didn't want to find out. Maybe that was where the monsters had gotten their creepy death hounds. The thought of that happening to Meeko made him want to cry.

They secured the horses in a stand of trees and ordered Meeko to stay, but the dog refused to obey, whining and winding around their legs. Finally Edric had to shout at the dog to charm it into staying put. For some weird reason the shout didn't echo, didn't carry, but Farkas couldn't care less about that right now.

The two Companions moved through the trees towards the mill, glad for the rush of water and the sound of the saw blade to cover their approach. As they crested the rock outcropping above the mill Edric cast his spell again.

"One in the mill," he whispered, barely a breath, "the other in that shack, with the bodies. What do you want to bet that's what happened to the bandits we were hired to take out?"

Shit, he was right. Well of course Edric was right. The hunters were lucky that they hadn't been discovered yet. Really lucky.

Well even if the vampires were just feeding on bandits, eventually the bandits would run out, and this was a well-traveled road. Vampires had to hunt just like werewolves did, but they had to feed more often and were more contagious, and they couldn't live off game for long the way werewolves could. It was sad, because from what Vilkas had told him a lot of vampires hadn't asked for it and had gotten infected by accident, but there wasn't a cure, and no way for them to live safely among people. A lot of werewolves couldn't either, but Aela thought that was just because they didn't live with others of their kind and had gone a little mad.

Edric went on, "I'll take the one in the mill, if you get the other." He paused then added, "The smell. I can't."

Farkas grunted his assent. Edric's wound looked healed enough to not cause issues in a fight, so that was fine, and he didn't blame his mate for not wanting to go where the smell was worst. It wasn't bad right here, with no breeze to speak of, but he didn't want Edric to have trouble fighting if the reek got to him.

"We uh...can't catch it, right?" Edric asked, worried. "Vampirism?"

"What? Oh. No. We're good." His mate nodded and bumped into his side then began moving off to the left, towards the mill.

Farkas headed right, climbing down the rocks, keeping the shed in sight. He couldn't see movement inside through the gaps in the boards but he didn't doubt Edric's word, or his skill with magic. His man was using it a lot more casually now, and he hadn't thought he would but Farkas was getting used to it. He hadn't even flinched much during this last spell. He had to admit it was pretty handy, seeing exactly where the targets were, though how it knew there were bodies in the shack was a mystery.

He pulled his great-sword, and as he approached he heard bones cracking then a gut-churning slurping sound. It was kind of hard for him to judge, considering. It really was. But there was something just downright disgusting about vampires. Maybe it was their smell, or the way their eyes glowed, or the way some of them could control dead bodies. It didn't matter. He didn't like them, and this area would be safer with both the bandits and the vampires dead. _Dead_ dead.

Farkas trusted his mate to take care of the other one and went right in. The vampire was squatting over a dead bandit, sucking the marrow from an arm bone. It sensed him too late and he brought the sword down on its spine, making it shriek, and he slashed again in the same spot, cutting the body in half completely. It screamed pitifully and he heard answering screams up at the mill, then the upper body started crawling towards him. He wrinkled his nose in disgust and cut its head off. It mercifully went silent then began to turn to ash.

"Nasty," he growled to himself, leaning down to grab a scrap of rabbit fur to clean his sword of the blood, not keen on taking any of it back to Jorrvaskr. Gods he hated these things. The Companions had done more than their share of vampire hunting while the Dragonborn had been up at High Hrothgar, and Farkas really hoped this was the last time he had to do it.

He blinked in surprise when he realized he could still hear the other vampire. Sobbing. Still alive. Sort of.

Farkas ran out of the shack, sword at the ready, and went straight up the ramp. He couldn't feel anything in particular from his mate, and when he got up to the platform he saw Edric standing about twenty feet away from the crouched vampire, his body sheathed in sparkling sunlight surrounded by a big whirling ball of the same. It was so bright and so pretty that for a second Farkas thought he was looking at one of the Divines.

"Please, mercy, I beg you!"

The female vampire's cry drew his attention again, and he growled and lifted his sword to kill her when he realized she had wrapped herself around a child. A toddler. The little one was maybe a year and a half old, blond, staring at Edric with wide blue eyes. Regular human eyes. Wooden toys were scattered around.

Farkas barked, "Where'd you get that kid?"

"He's our son," she wept. "He's pure, I swear it. We never touched him." She wailed, "I never wanted this! It was Hern who brought this home! I never wanted it!"

He grimaced and lowered his sword and cursed under his breath. No damned way he was going to cut her down while she was holding a kid. And maybe the sunlight around Edric might not hurt the baby, but Farkas didn't know what the spell would do to the woman while she was holding her kid. She might burst into flames or something, and that couldn't be good for the baby.

Not taking his eyes off her, he muttered, "What're we gonna do?" Edric didn't answer right away, and he looked at his mate to see the Dragonborn staring at her. "Can you uh…" He didn't know what. The spell around the other man fizzled out, and he pressed, "Edie, what are we going to do? We can't leave her. She'll get hungry eventually. They always do."

"I never killed anyone!" she cried. "I tried not to touch what he brought home, only the game! I'm not a man-eater!"

Edric made a sick, gurgling sound and rubbed his hand over his mouth, and Farkas whispered, "Edie, no." That was the worst thing the creature could've said, and maybe it was even making Farkas feel kind of bad for her. That didn't matter though. They had a duty. "Honey, we can't leave her like this! It's too dangerous!" Edric chewed at his bottom lip, and Farkas nearly snapped at him. His mate's usually cool heart softened at the most surprising times, and maybe there was a kid involved but they could find a way around it, and the baby was little enough that it, he, wouldn't remember any of this. He was a really cute kid, full-blooded Nord by the looks of it. He would get adopted right away, by _normal_ people. They couldn't leave him here, where eventually his mother would get hungry enough to drain even her own baby.

Edric didn't move, and Farkas growled, "Edie…"

The Dragonborn finally moved, approaching the vampire with hands raised, his steps careful. Farkas grit his teeth, trusting in his man to deal with the situation without the kid getting caught in the middle, or Edric getting himself hurt.

Edric squatted down, clearing his throat, then he asked her in a rumbling voice, "Do you know who I am?"

She shuddered, her orange eyes widening, if anything looking more afraid than before. "Dovahkiin," she whimpered.

"Aye. When did your husband come home a vampire?"

"Only a few months ago. He was gone for months before that, I'd been sure he was dead. He tried not to give it to me. He tried. But he got hungry. 'Just a little drink,' he said." She broke down crying again, hugging the child to her. "But we never touched little Eivind. Not once."

"All right."

Farkas huffed in disbelief, "Edric!" He hardly ever used his mate's full name, but this called for it. His man ignored him, reaching into one of his belt pouches. Farkas was actually pretty angry right now, but he held his tongue just a little longer, because there had to be more to it than this. _I'm not going to leave shit undone_ , Edric had said. And he didn't, and when it seemed like he did it was only because he was either planning out how to get it done or waiting for the right time to do it. And so Farkas waited.

Edric took out a black soul gem. The Torvar gem. Farkas knew it was because he had seen his mate fiddle with it enough over the last few weeks to memorize its shape, and because Edric wasn't in the habit of just carrying those things around in general. Not the black ones. At least Farkas didn't think so.

"Do you know the way to Morthal?" the Dragonborn asked her.

She sniffed and stared at him a moment before answering in confusion, "Yes?"

"There's a mage there named Falion. He has a cure for vampirism." She sucked in a breath, her body going still, though she trembled. He held up the gem between his fingers. "This gem contains a soul, albeit a shitty one, but this is the main part of the cure. You take this to Falion, at night. His is the very last house on the boardwalk, on the east side of town." Her fingers twitched but she didn't take the gem, obviously terrified. Edric added, "You do this or we'll have to kill you. Simple as that."

She winced and mumbled, "Yes _Dovahkiin_ , but...we, I, don't have a horse, well we did have some, but Hern… and my baby—"

"We're taking the baby." She let out a whine of dismay, clutching the child to her, and Edric insisted, "I don't like it either, but that baby is my leverage. I want to make sure you do this. We're taking the child to Whiterun. I'll provide the horse, and it's going to be an undead flaming horse, so you'll just have to deal with that. You're going to put on a cloak, pull up the hood, get on that horse, and ride until you reach Morthal. You're going to cut straight north across the plains, and you aren't going to stop to sleep or eat. You're going to ride that horse until you reach the hills south of Morthal, then you'll dismount and the horse will disappear. You'll wait for night then you'll go to Falion and he will cure you. Once you're cured you can hire passage to Whiterun. I'll give you money for it. Are you going to do this?" She hesitated, and his voice went cold as he said, "We're taking the child either way. The only question is if you live or die. You do this and live, you get your child back. You don't, you die and he goes to Honorhall."

"I'll do it," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears again. "I swear it, Dovahkiin. I swear it."

Edric held out his other hand for the child, and the woman sobbed and kissed her son then held him out to the Dragonborn. Edric took him around the waist and the toddler shrieked and reached for his mother, and she clapped her hands over her mouth to smother her own cries, tears running down her face. Edric held out the soul gem, and she plucked it from him then scrambled away and ran for the house.

Once she was inside Edric yanked his helmet off and threw it to the floor of the mill with a clank, his expression hard. "Bloody fucking hell, Farkas," he growled. "First the dog, now this?"

Farkas sheathed the sword, his mate's anger and distress like sparks being thrown off a fire, as if he hadn't let himself get upset until now. The toddler wailed miserably, and Farkas knelt down, taking his own helmet off. "Edie," he whispered, petting his lover's, no, his _husband's_ , sweetroll hair. Edric leaned into it and the feelings started to subside until only wisps of anxiety leaked out. "We'll just have to deal with this," he murmured.

"I don't know a single fu-" His lips twisted and then he forced the thu'um back down and said, "I don't know anything about kids. Even if he's weaned, I can't take care of a kid."

Farkas was glad his man was watching his language, because the last thing the woman needed was to get her baby back swearing like a soldier. Edric's language had been worse than usual since Meeko had come along, maybe because he was a little stressed out over things, though he had always had a bit of a potty mouth.

It was sad though that his mate thought he couldn't take care of a kid. Farkas hadn't really taken care of a child before either, but they were doing okay with the dog. The baby, Eivind, could eat what they ate and sleep between them. They were only a day's ride from Riverwood, and Whiterun less than half a day from there. They could manage that long. Once they got home Tilma would know what to do, or maybe one of the families in town could keep the baby for a while.

He quietly said, "It'll be hard, but we don't have a choice. She…" He sighed, feeling bad. "She shouldn't have to die, if there's another way." Farkas hadn't had any idea at all that there was a cure for being a vampire, but if there was a cure for being a werewolf then it didn't seem so crazy. And of course Edric knew what the cure was.

"Falion used to be the Conjuration Master at the College of Winterhold. He's good, really good. If he says he can cure a vampire then he can. Something about swapping out the souls, a trade, hell if I know, and I don't care. I'm not enough of a prick to want even Torvar's soul to get sent to Molag Bal's realm, but better him than her."

"I guess so." The woman hadn't wanted to become what she was. Werewolves almost always did, maybe not always for the best reasons, but it was almost never on accident. You could catch vampirism just by getting attacked, or fed on. It was sad, and Farkas was glad that they didn't have to kill her... _if_ she carried through. Keeping her kid was the best way to make sure she did.

The toddler settled into miserable whimpers, snot and tears running down his face, staring towards the house, and Farkas huffed and fished around in one of his pouches for a handkerchief. He took off his gauntlets and tried to wipe the kid's nose, but Eivind whined and pulled away. "It's okay, baby," he murmured, trying to make his deep voice as soothing as possible. "We're gonna take good care of you. Mama's going to-" The baby wailed at that. Edric winced, and Farkas sighed and reached out to pick up the toddler. Eivind cried but didn't struggle. "Could you grab my stuff?" His mate nodded. "I'll take the kid if you deal with her."

"Aye," Edric muttered.

Farkas stood with the child in his arms and walked out to the road, lightly bouncing the toddler as he walked, the way he had seen parents do. He managed to get the worst of the snot off Eivind's face, though the baby was pretty dirty. That was okay. Dirt was good for kids, or so Tilma had always said, and the boy looked chubby and healthy. He was awfully cute too.

"It's gonna be okay," Farkas murmured. "My man will make sure she gets fixed up, then she'll come get you in Whiterun. We'll find a nice family to take care of you until she gets back. Maybe with some other kids to play with. I bet it gets lonely out here, just you and your ma and…" It hit him all of a sudden, that the creature he'd killed in the shack was the baby's da. Really, he knew that just about anybody he killed on a job could be a parent, but he still felt a little bad. Bad for the baby, anyway.

He slowly paced back and forth on the bridge, talking softly to the child, who stopped crying finally. He saw Edric heading for the house, and he feared his mate would go inside but to Farkas' relief he waited in the yard.

Within minutes the vampire woman came back out dressed more warmly, a cloak over her with the hood pulled up. She had two bags, and she looked around, frantic, until her eyes landed on Farkas. She said something to Edric and he slowly shook his head. Maybe she wanted to say goodbye to her baby. Farkas couldn't blame her, but Edric could be unmovable when he'd made up his mind. She sobbed and shoved one of the bags at the Dragonborn, who took it, then he stepped away from her and summoned Arvak.

Farkas had to admit that the horse was terrifying, even to him after spending a few hours with the thing in the marshes. Sure, it seemed like a nice flaming skeletal horse, as far as they went, but just the fact that it was dead and on fire was too much for anyone to take without a little fuss. The woman didn't want to get on it, that was obvious, but Edric pointed at her baby and she cried some more and moved towards the horse. Edric went with her and handed her a coin purse, making Farkas wonder just how much money his husband was carrying around.

He gave her a foot up and she climbed on with a squeal of horror, and Edric gestured, maybe showing her where to hold on. Farkas hoped for her sake that she did what she was supposed to and rode nonstop, because anyone seeing a vampire woman riding that horse wouldn't hesitate to try to kill her. Morthal was two days north, a full two days, so hopefully she didn't need to sleep because the horse wouldn't stick around if it didn't have a load on its back, and gods only knew how long it would take her to get there on foot. If she didn't stop to rest though she could make it in a little over a day, but even a vampire wouldn't be able to handle a steady, full gallop on that horse, and from what Farkas could see there wasn't any padding over the creature's backbone, not even stirrups to stand up in to take off the pressure. That couldn't be a comfortable ride at all.

Edric went to the horse's head and petted it then leaned close and seemed to talk to the horse. Farkas shuddered and turned to pace the other way. Better to not look, and better if little Eivind didn't see his mother ride away.

He heard a whinny then a galloping sound, and he walked a bit further then turned back to see a bit of purple glow before it was gone.

He let out a breath and looked at the toddler, who was sticking his lip out a lot like the way Edric did when he was sad. So damn cute. "It's okay, baby," he repeated. "We're gonna go on an adventure. You can ride with me on my horse. And we've got a dog. A big friendly dog named Meeko. You're gonna really like him, and I bet he'll love you." Eivind whimpered and rubbed his eyes. Poor little guy. He'd be all right though. He was younger than Farkas and Vilkas had been when they lost their mother, and neither of them remembered anything about her or anything really before coming to Jorrvaskr.

Edric came towards him, the bag on his shoulder, Farkas' helmet tucked under one arm, then he stopped a few feet away, looking at Farkas with surprise, then his expression went soft.

"That's a good look on you," his mate said, his tone odd.

"We'll have this someday," Farkas stated with confidence. He smiled at his man then tickled the baby under the chin. "He's really cute, huh? We did a good thing, honey. I feel bad about the pa, but he's too little to know. His ma will get cured and come back for him and he'll be okay." The toddler whimpered then laid his head on the big man's shoulder, padded by the cloak, and Farkas grinned and said, "Aw, you're a cute little pup." He felt a warm, almost painful surge of emotion, and he looked at his mate to see Edric staring at him with big, shiny eyes. He clucked his tongue and moved closer to him, petting his hair then taking the back of his head and leaning down to kiss him.

Edric muttered, "I hate that you have to wait. You've waited so long to have a family, and you'll be stuck waiting for me. I want to give that to you, and...we have to wait."

"It'll be worth it, honey," he soothed. He kissed his husband again then let go, to take his helmet from the other man and put it on. "We should get to Riverwood as soon as we can. He's gonna get hungry soon, and maybe need to be changed. Do you think he's in diapers?" He patted the boy's bottom. "It feels like it."

"Hell if I know," Edric sighed. "I told you, I don't know anything about kids, especially littles."

"We'll do fine. It can't be that hard."

Edric made a sound of dread, as if he really doubted that.

* * *

"Can't you shout at him?" Farkas groaned. Eivind had been crying for five minutes straight, missing his mom maybe, because they just fed him some dried apples that they'd chewed a bit for him and some cheese, and he'd eaten both just fine. It had been hard to remember that kids this age could choke easily. They almost hadn't remembered in time.

Edric protested, "I can't shout at a baby! It'll scramble his brains or something!"

Farkas huffed and tried walking around and bouncing him a little, but that seemed to only make it worse. Then he felt the dampness finally seep through the palm of his glove. "Ohhh. He's wet." It had been hours since they'd left the mill and they'd stopped to eat along the lake, not far from where the road split off to Helgen. He set Eivind down near the bag of stuff that his mother had packed, and Edric looked through it then held up a rectangle of thick, soft cloth. "Yeah, that looks about right," Farkas said with a nod. He stripped the pants off the toddler then the wool cover that was fastened on with closable pins, then the soggy diaper underneath. Most toddlers he had seen ran around with no pants on when it was warm, or just leggings with a hole cut out so they could do their business, but it was chilly out.

He thought about the situation for a moment then got his waterskin out and washed Eivind off, worried he'd get a rash, then with Edric's help they got the baby dried off and into a clean diaper and pants. Meeko was watching them with a funny look, his head tilted to the side, like he was judging how they were doing this, but it wasn't like a dog would know. The diaper and cover looked wrong, and Farkas knew they'd screwed up something, but nothing seemed to be getting pinched down there and the boy had stopped crying.

Farkas smiled at his man and said, "See, that wasn't so bad."

"I suppose," Edric murmured.

Farkas handed over the baby, and Edric took him with stiff motions, his face set into an expression that said he was uncomfortable, as if he worried he would break him. "Show him some magic," the warrior suggested. "I bet he'd like that."

"Ah." Edric set the toddler on his feet, bare in the dirt, but it was hardly going to hurt him. The Dragonborn held out his hands, palms up, then clenched his fists and opened them. Turquoise squares floated in his right hand, while in this left floated dark orange ones. Eivind's eyes grew big and round, and when Edric held his hands out the toddler reached out and tried to grab the squares. Edric laughed, and the little boy reached out with both hands and swished them around in the magic then smiled at the Dragonborn.

Farkas packed up their gear, watching out of the corner of his eye. It was nice, seeing Edric with the kid. Maybe they'd never really talked about it, but he knew his husband didn't want kids as much as Farkas did. That was okay. Nobody ever wanted things the same. Edric was warming up to the baby, smiling that big, beautiful full smile that hardly anyone ever got to see. Farkas knew he saw it more than anyone else, but it was still rare.

He got their things put away then stood by his horse and watched them play, Meeko moving in close to smell Eivind again, though he probably smelled a little less interesting now that he was clean. The toddler reached for the dog and Meeko allowed it, though Edric hovered and kept Eivind from getting in the dog's face. Meeko laid down and the little boy squatted down to pat the dog's back.

"Good dog," Edric said in approval.

"Gog," Eivind chirped.

"Aye, he's a dog. He's a good dog."

"Gogog."

It was so adorable Farkas could hardly stand it. Edric seemed delighted that the toddler was finally talking, grinning at the little boy. The swell of warmth that it gave him made Edric glance at him, his grin turning into a tender smile and shiny eyes.

Someday. Someday they would have this all the time...a dog and a couple kids, a house of their own. Well, they had the dog, and kind of had the house, though Farkas hadn't looked inside yet. And they were husband and husband, even if they weren't legally married. What they had right now was enough. Edric would come back from the war and they would finally settle down in Breezehome with a family, but in the meantime they had each other and that was just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll have another longer chapter coming after this; they were both originally the same chapter but I figured 19k words was excessive even for me. Thank you all so much for sticking with this story over the years (yes, it's been years, three as of this month!). As with everything else I write I never expected the fic to get this long, but fun little ideas like this one just kept popping up. I was going over the UESP Skyrim map, following the road from Morthal to Riverwood, and got to wondering why two vampires were running a lumber mill, and it went from there. What a great resource that map has been.
> 
> Happy New Year! Let's all hope 2017 goes better than this year did. I wish all of you the best.


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last of the chapters for a while... Thanks everyone for reading.

They were around the bend from Riverwood, and a stab of anxiety was all the warning Farkas got before Edric nudged his horse and took off up the hill, Meeko on his heels. Farkas stared after his husband in confusion then kept on his way at a slower pace, mindful of the sleeping toddler in his lap. They had agreed to head to Gerdur's house first, so he trusted that was where Edric would end up.

He passed the small graveyard outside the town walls, and it made him sigh and realize what was wrong. It hadn't crossed Farkas' mind that they would have to pass Ralof's grave on the way in. He hoped Edric would be able to better deal with it in the morning. He had sworn he wanted to visit the grave again and Farkas really thought he should. The last time they had come here Edric hadn't been able to tolerate looking at it.

The guards called out in greeting, looking curiously at the bundle partly hidden by his cloak. Well they could keep being curious. Farkas wanted to get to Gerdur's as soon as possible and he wasn't waking up Eivind until he had to.

He rode through town and turned at the Riverwood Trader then headed up the street, and there was Edric, standing by his horse next to the house, the dog running around sniffing everything. Edric saw him and there was that tiny pang again before it was smothered, though the younger man's expression never changed. Farkas had to wonder how much Edric had always hidden behind that mask, even after they got together. Things had been good and calm since leaving Morthal, but they were going to be around people again, a lot of people in Whiterun.

And Vilkas. Mara's mercy, he was _not_ looking forward to feeling how his husband really felt about his twin. Edric hadn't made any secret of how he detested Farkas' brother, but it would be a different thing altogether to feel it from him, if it was really as strong as the Companion feared.

Vilkas. He hadn't thought about his brother in days. Maybe longer. That should hurt more than it did.

He reached the house and scooped the toddler into the crook of his arm before carefully dismounting. He was pretty proud of himself for managing to not disturb the little guy, who was sound asleep. He led the horse to Edric, whispering, "Do you want to go get a room first?" Edric curtly shook his head, giving off tiny pinpricks of dread. So they would just have to get this over with, then. That was usually Edric's way, diving headfirst into something unpleasant to get it out of the way.

Edric tied their horses to the fence that kept the cow in then they went to the front door of the house. Light was shining through the frosted windows and Farkas could smell dinner. Edric stared at the door and didn't seem like he was going to do anything about it, so Farkas sighed and knocked, keeping it as quiet as he could so as not to wake up the baby.

There was muttering in the house and the sound of a chair being scooted back then the door was opened, and Gerdur's husband was there. Hod stared at Farkas in confusion then his eyes fell on Edric. The man's breath caught, then he turned away the slightest bit and whispered urgently, "Gerdur! Gerdie, get over here!" He seemed like he wanted to say more, his mouth moving but nothing coming out as he stared at Edric. He finally stammered, "I...we'd heard. That you were in Whiterun. With the…" He looked up at Farkas. "Companions…"

Gerdur hurried over, wiping her hands on her apron. "You daft man," she scolded, "you're letting all the heat out!" She came into view and gasped, then she cried out and rushed Edric, who didn't get the chance to step back before Ralof's sister had hold of him. "You came back," she said in a breaking voice. "Oh, little brother, it's so good to see you!" Edric gave in and wrapped his arms around her waist and put his face in her neck.

Hod's eyes forced themselves away from the Dragonborn then up to Farkas. "Uh...Companion," he began. "Eh, Farkas, right?"

"Yeah, I'm Farkas," he answered. That was about all he had for now, and it seemed the same for Hod, the two men staring at each other for a long, uncomfortable moment before each looked away. Well what was he supposed to say? He didn't know the guy. He didn't know Gerdur all that well either, but she didn't make things weird.

Gerdur lifted her head then grabbed Edric's hand, her eyes wet with unshed tears, as were Edric's. "Come on then, it's cold out here," she said, giving it a tug. She grabbed for Farkas' as well then noticed the bundle in his arms, then Meeko was shoving his way through and going into the house to run around smelling everything. "Well!" she breathed. "You two certainly don't waste time, yeah? A baby and a dog already?"

Edric looked stunned, his mouth falling open, and Farkas said, "The dog's ours. The kid isn't."

"Well this is a story I want to hear. Come on, come on!" She pulled Edric in and the younger man went with only a little hesitation. "We're just sitting down to dinner. Frodnar is at a friend's house for the night. Sit, sit!" She pushed Edric into the chair closest to the fire then motioned for Farkas to sit next to him. "Hod, get the boys a drink."

"No," Edric said with a curt shake of his head. "No drinks."

"Oh. Oh! You're not drinking any longer?"

Seeing his mate's embarrassment, Farkas answered, "No, he quit about a month ago. For good."

The blonde beamed. "Oh, that's wonderful news! Well then, no drinks for any of us. I'll make some tea instead." She bustled over to the fire and put a kettle on the rack. "Camilla and her brother got a shipment in and she gave me a taste. Never thought I would like such a thing, but I have to admit I never go a morning without it now." Hod had gone over to the counter by the sleeping area, and when she saw him about to pop the cork out of a bottle of mead she pointed a finger at him and said, "Don't you dare! I said _no drinks_ , for any of us. Edric isn't drinking any more and you want to wave that in his face? Put it away!" Her husband grumbled and did as he was told. She shook her head then turned back to her guests. "Well come on then, eat something. There's plenty to go around." Both men hesitated, and her face fell as she murmured, "It's a bit too much, yeah? I'm sorry, it's just that I'm so glad to see you."

Edric nodded, frowning, and Farkas said to him, "Could you dish me up something, honey? My hands are full." Edric's expression eased and he leaned forward to grab the soup ladle.

Gerdur settled across the table, her hands folded in her lap. "I appreciate that you've stopped by," she said in a slower, quieter way. "It means a lot to me, truly it does." Hod came and sat down next to her, and she went on with a slight grimace, "However I should let you know, if you're staying at the inn...or you could stay here…"

"The inn," Edric mumbled.

"Ah. Right. I understand."

"But thank you. I just...can't."

"I know, dear. It isn't a problem. But the inn…"

"Hadvar's there," Hod stated.

Edric set the ladle back in the pot with a clank and sat back, his hands bunched into fists in his lap. Farkas felt twinges of grief and anger, along with a hefty dose of shocked disbelief, though his mate's expression was cool. Hadvar… Oh. He was the smith's nephew, who had raised Hadvar after his parents died. More than that, now that he remembered, Hadvar had been a fellow soldier in the Legion, having joined around the same time Edric did. Hadvar had been at Helgen, part of the group that had captured and brought in Ulfric. And Ralof. He and Ralof had grown up together. He was alive, and Ralof wasn't.

"Aye," Hod said with a nod. "Been back in town near a week now. Hardly recognized him, rough as he was." He motioned to his face. "Looked like a wild man. Been staying at the inn. Not sure why he isn't with Sigrid and Alvor. Not sure why he's here at all. Would've thought he'd go south with the rest of his ilk."

Gerdur chided, "Now, we aren't going there, Hod. The war is over. Hadvar was always a good sort."

"Good at following orders."

"And now he isn't. We'll have no trouble in this town." She motioned to the table. "Everyone eat. You'll do better with food in your stomach." She picked up a chunk of bread and a butter knife, waving it at the covered baby. "So tell me about this! Is it a foundling, then?"

Farkas answered, "Kind of. We're uh...watching him for a while. Taking him to Whiterun."

"Oh. He's real little then?"

"Less than two, but weaned. Walking, talking a little. Thought we'd find a family to foster him, until his ma comes to get him. A week or two at most."

She smiled at him as she buttered the bread then handed it across the table with a wink. "Good practice for later. A bit anyway." Farkas took the bread, and she pointed the knife at Edric. "You, eat." The young man blinked then did as he was told in wooden motions. "On your way back from a job?"

"Yeah. Some stuff up in Hjaalmarch. Thought we'd stop by on the way home."

"Ah, wonderful. I'm so glad you did." She glanced at her husband. "When word started to get around, about Edric… I told Hod about your visit a while back. I hope that was all right." Edric nodded, avoiding her gaze. "Hod wants to talk to you, before you go." She elbowed her husband. "Don't you, Hod."

The blond man blinked in surprise then said, "Oh! Ehh...yeah. I do. Before you go." Edric frowned, seeming unhappy with that, but nodded in agreement.

"So what's this little one's name? And the dog, what's the story there?"

Farkas found himself being the talkative one for once while Edric stayed mostly silent through the meal. That was all right, as Gerdur did most of the talking and asked questions that were easy for Farkas to answer. Hod was a friendly sort as well, though he kept glancing at Edric with worry that he didn't hide very well.

Farkas was a little worried too, but he understood why Edric was sad and closed off. His mate kept looking around the house and giving off little stabs of grief. Remembering the times he and Ralof had visited here, probably.

Eivind woke up crying halfway through the meal, soggy and hungry and missing his mother, and Hod swept in and took the child, he and his wife cooing over the toddler, Hod cleaning the boy up while Gerdur fed him bits of bread soaked in broth and small chunks of stewed meat and vegetables. Neither pushed too hard about where the baby had come from, and Farkas wouldn't have said. It would've been nice to leave Eivind here, but it was a little too close for comfort if the vampire woman turned around and decided to look for her baby and steal him away instead of getting cured. Better to have him safe inside Whiterun's walls, where people still were wary at night of vampires sneaking around the city, even half a year after the last vampire attack. Plus he didn't want to put Hod and Gerdur at risk.

Gerdur offered to take the baby for the night, and it was obvious how relieved Edric was. Farkas agreed to it, seeing that Eivind seemed to like the couple just fine. They could pick him up in the morning before they left for Whiterun. It was just one night.

Dinner passed pleasantly, and Edric seemed to like the tea that Gerdur had made, so Farkas vowed to pick up some at the merchants' before they left town. Maybe if his husband had something like that to drink instead of water it would help him not miss alcohol so much. Things had seemed okay though for a while, with no obvious cravings, but maybe Edric was just learning to hide it, the way he did so many other things. Still, they had been fully bonded for nearly three days now, and Farkas hadn't felt anything wrong. But then they had been traveling the whole time, away from temptation.

They collected their horses and headed for the inn with Meeko, though the dog had been reluctant to leave the warm house, and the baby. Most folk were in their houses, so only a few nosy guards noticed them going through town.

As they stabled the horses for the night, Farkas could see his husband tensing up, and before they could leave the stable he stopped Edric with a hand on his shoulder. "Honey," he murmured.

"I'm fine," Edric said, his tone snippy.

"You're upset."

"I hate coming here. I know this was my idea, and I know I have to do it, but that doesn't mean I have to like it."

Farkas nodded and knew he had to let it go. "Okay." It was never good to push his mate, not that Farkas did very often. He knew it was hard for Edric, breaking bread with people he still considered kin, feeling the ghost of the person who wasn't in the room, whose body was buried right outside town. Edric had stayed though, all through dinner, and while he'd been quiet he hadn't been grouchy. The visit had been nice, and Hod and Gerdur had been happy to take Eivind, maybe missing having a baby in the house now that their son was older. Older and hopefully a little better behaved.

Edric rubbed his nose, across the scar there, wrestling with something, then he huffed and looked up at his husband. "I know it'll get easier, with time. I know that. But I don't want it to, you know? It's already gotten a little easier and it feels like it shouldn't. It feels like betraying him, that it doesn't hurt like it used to, even as much as it still does, and it's...it's ridiculous, and self-absorbed, for me to keep carrying on like this when other people have lost as much if not more and get along fine."

Gods but that was sad to hear. Farkas really wasn't sure what to say, because Edric knew himself better than anyone. "But you are getting along fine," he finally said. "Just 'cause you're sad about him sometimes doesn't mean you aren't getting along okay." The surge of aching love that came after that just about took Farkas' breath away.

Edric let out a quiet laugh and lightly hit the sides of his balled up fists on Farkas' breastplate. "And there they are," he said with sad amusement. "The words I knew you would have. Ah, _miingi_ , you're a blessing." He grabbed Farkas' face and pulled him down for a kiss. His smile dropped away as he added, "But...it's also this thing with Hadvar. There's bad blood between us. He thinks I'm a traitor, as much as Balgruuf does. And there was bad blood between him and Ray. They were good friends growing up, up until maybe five, six years ago. Honestly, I thought the bastard was dead until tonight. I thought he'd died at Solitude just like Ray did."

Farkas could see why that hurt. "Huh. Do you think he'll cause problems?"

"Aye, I do. Some part of me hopes he does. Probably a good thing we don't have the little one with us." Farkas frowned and grunted. Edric let his hands come to rest on his man's chest and mumbled, "Then there's Hod. I can tell he wants to talk, and I'm scared of what he has to say. About Ralof. They were close, real close. Ray told him things. Things he couldn't tell me. And I think Hod wants to tell me them. Like Gerdur said the last time we visited. And...and I'm afraid it will make things worse."

"Maybe it will, for a while." He pulled Edric as close as he could and kissed his forehead. "My poor baby, I know this is hard."

Edric whispered, "Ah fuck, don't start in with the pet names or I'll lose it."

"Okay." He could feel wisps of sorrow from the other man, and maybe it didn't feel like much, but the fact that he could feel it at all meant that Edric was awfully sad. "Hey, did you like that tea Gerdur made? If you like it we could get some before we go."

"Yeah, it was good. We had tea in the south, though it was stronger than this was. Wouldn't mind taking some home. It'll be nice to have something to drink other than water. Gets old."

"I bet." Farkas kissed his head again then took his hand and gave it a tug. As they headed around the corner to the inn he said, "We still have to figure out who to leave the kid with. When we get to Whiterun."

"Wish we could leave him here. Gerdur and Hod loved having the baby. They always wanted to have more, but Gerdur nearly died having Frodnar. They didn't want to risk it, and they never found a child to adopt anywhere nearby. The orphanage in Riften wasn't letting go of any of the kids back then, either."

"Yeah, I don't get that."

"Strange, isn't it?" Edric said lightly. "Sure glad that situation sorted itself out."

Farkas frowned at his mate's weird tone of voice, but like so many other weird things about Edric he had to let it go. He'd heard that the old lady had died under strange circumstances and that the girl who now ran the place swore she had seen a shadowy figure leave Grelod's room, but everyone put it down to her imagination when no one found a mark on the old woman. Farkas had never thought anything of it and assumed she'd died of natural causes due to age, but now… His mate had ways of killing someone without leaving a mark. It wasn't a comfortable thought, that Edric might have murdered an old woman, but he never killed anyone without cause. It had to have been a really important cause for the Dragonborn to do that.

Edric went on, "Heard rumors the old woman was abusing the kids. Beating and starving them. Turning away prospective parents just to keep the kids under her thumb. Shame her heart gave out on her, if she had one."

"Yeah," Farkas breathed, relaxing. Okay then. That was something he could live with. Just as he had known it would be. He squeezed his husband's hand and got the same in return. They were good.

The moment they entered the inn Farkas' breath caught at the intense wave of emotion from his husband, something so tangled and confusing he couldn't sort it out. Edric was angry, and feeling loss, but there was also a bitter pleasure that Farkas couldn't figure out the reasons for. Edric's eyes fixed themselves on a man at the bar, a husky fellow with long auburn hair tied back with a leather strip, wearing weathered iron armor. He was drinking a mug of something, the remains of dinner on the counter in front of him.

"Well, _Praefect_ ," Edric said in a thu'um-filled voice, his tone biting. "Surprised you haven't scurried south with your tail between your legs, like the rest of the Thalmor lovers."

Hadvar lifted his head, his entire body going rigid, and Farkas clamped his lips shut against getting after his man. He had known that Edric would be confrontational with Hadvar, and he knew his mate had a sharp tongue. He knew those things, but standing back and watching it happen would be hard. Meeko shoved past them and settled by the fire, as he did every time he got the chance, caring little about the thunder in his master's voice.

Orgnar the innkeeper scowled at Edric and said in a wary tone, "Don't want no trouble in my inn, Dragonborn."

Edric ignored him and walked over to the bar, his steps slow and measured, boots thudding on the wood floor, the sound menacing even to Farkas' ears. "Or did they leave all the snowbacks behind when they took off?" he continued. "We both know how the Colovians feel about us barbarian dogs. As if we weren't the backbone of the Empire. As if we didn't found it."

"You always loved to talk," Hadvar muttered.

"Maybe if you had listened, you wouldn't be where you are. Wherever that might be."

"With my honor intact, for a start."

"Funny, so is mine."

Hadvar turned to look at Edric, and the hatred in the other man's cold gray eyes made the hair on the back of Farkas' neck stand up in warning. He wanted to step in and knew that wouldn't be welcome to anyone except maybe Orgnar. Hadvar was a rough-looking man, just as Hod had said, with a full red beard and a nasty scar across his forehead, looking as if he'd been dragged across Skyrim by a bear. He and Edric were close in age, but the Dragonborn's beauty and smooth, hairless face made him look five years younger than he was.

Edric leaned against the bar, within arm's reach of Hadvar, as if taunting his fellow former Legionnaire to go after him. "So, what have you been up to, Praefect?"

"Tribune," Hadvar growled. "I made Tribune."

"And yet you're here and the Legion isn't."

"Skyrim is my home, as much as it is yours."

"So they released you, then? Gave you an honorable discharge?" Hadvar didn't answer, his mouth twisting beneath his beard. " _Well_ ," Edric drawled, silver eyes lighting with interest. "Well, well, well." Edric looked at Orgnar and said, "We'll take a room." Orgnar hesitated, and Edric pointed behind Hadvar. "That one. And dinner for the dog." As the innkeeper walked away Edric looked at Hadvar's plate and muttered with a wrinkled nose, "Probably about all it's good for."

Orgnar replied in a sour tone, "Ain't never claimed to be much of a cook."

Hadvar's lip curled and he hissed, "You and your smart fucking mouth. You arrogant asshole."

Farkas barked, "Hey! You can't talk to my man like that!" He wasn't going to let anyone talk to his husband like that. Edric seemed completely unaffected by it, smirking at the bigger man, as if getting a kick out of riling Hadvar. Maybe he was.

The Dragonborn said, "No _miingi_ , let him get it out. The Nine only know how long he's been waiting to lance that boil."

"I don't care," Farkas growled as he came over. "I'm not letting him talk to you like that, and you need to stop baiting him into it. Whatever shit is between you two isn't gonna get worked out this way." To his surprise his mate actually looked a little guilty about that, and more than a little surprised by his forcefulness. Farkas hated being this way with Edric, but Edric was kind of being a dick, and that was just embarrassing for both of them.

Hadvar muttered, "I don't see it getting worked out, Companion. Let him gloat. It's what he does best. That and kill people." He dug out some coin and threw it on the counter then rose. "Let's hope he's as good at killing elves as he is his own kind."

Edric's eyes narrowed as he said, "I killed a lot fewer Nords than the Legion did. How did it feel to cut down people defending their homeland? _Your_ homeland? Did the Thalmor pay you a bounty on all the amulets of Talos you collected from the dead?" Hadvar glared coldly at him then reached inside his armor and pulled something out, letting it fall with a clank on his chest: an amulet of Talos. Edric let out a soft laugh. "All right then. Maybe there's hope for you yet."

"Half the Legion worships Talos, bastard," Hadvar spat, "and you damn well know that."

"Aye, I do, and now you can walk around freely with that amulet and not worry about being dragged away to Northwatch Keep to be 'interrogated'." Hadvar didn't respond, huffing in disdain as he turned away. Edric moved in front of him and the other man's fists bunched up. "Why are you here?" the Dragonborn asked. "Why did you stay behind?"

"None of your fucking business. I don't give a shit what you've become, I don't have to answer that. I'm certain you could make me, but you'll have to make me."

Farkas feared his mate would do just that, then Edric moved out of the way, with a stiffness that said it was hard for him to back down even that much. Hadvar went to his room and slammed the door shut. The Companion was glad that his man hadn't pushed the issue, because he could have, but that would just be acting like a bully, and while Edric could be pushy he wasn't a bully.

Orgnar came out of the kitchen with a large bowl of stew and set it on the counter with a clank. "Here you go, your lordship," the innkeeper muttered. "I'll get the room ready." Edric nodded and the man turned away.

Farkas leaned close and murmured, "It isn't right, saying stuff like that to working folk." It was one thing to be an ass to someone he had a history with, like Hadvar, or Vilkas who kept pushing him, but his words about the innkeeper's cooking had been uncalled for.

"Aye," Edric whispered, cheeks faintly pink. "Not as if Hadvar was wrong, you know?" He picked up the bowl and carried it over to the dog. Meeko jumped up and wagged just about his whole body, happy to be fed, since they hadn't wanted to ask Gerdur to waste good food on a dog.

The big man sighed, feeling bad, because Edric obviously felt bad. He watched his mate squat down and pet the dog's back as Meeko ate. Farkas couldn't feel anything from him, so it couldn't be too serious, but he sure looked small and sad. Guilty. Which made Farkas feel guilty. Which he shouldn't, because this was Edric's own fault, but Farkas couldn't help it.

Orgnar left the room and said to Farkas, "Room's yours."

The Companion took out some coin, enough for the room and the dog's meal, plus a little extra. "Thanks," Farkas said. He thought about apologizing for Edric, but it wasn't his place to do that. His mate was going to have to be the one to do it, if he did it at all, which wasn't a given.

He went into the room, a good-sized one, and set down his pack then stripped off his armor. Maybe Edric just needed some space for a little bit. This had been a rough trip, with the Dragonborn having to do his duty to the forts and Rorikstead (twice), and messing with the giants, and finding Meeko, then Hircine coming along and ruining their hunt, then the vampire couple after that. Finishing their pairbond had been… well, pretty amazing actually, the best part of the whole trip, maybe the best part of their whole relationship so far, but ending the trip here with a visit to his dead husband's family then seeing Hadvar was more than Farkas could expect him to handle gracefully.

Tomorrow they would visit Ralof's grave, and Edric would talk to Hod, and that was going to be pretty rough too. Farkas hoped that there wasn't another unpleasant confrontation with Hadvar to add to that.

He got his armor off and set aside. It was looking a bit dirty with a few spots of corrosion starting, maybe from the marshes, maybe from vampire blood, it was hard to say. It would definitely need attention from the smiths, though nothing major, probably within Avulstein's ability to deal with. He should get the worst of it off though, just to spare himself any dirty looks from Eorlund.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and got out the small maintenance kit he carried, then he began cleaning the worst spots from his armor. He usually got a lot dirtier than this on jobs. The cuirass had caught the worst of it, and he wasn't sure how he was going to explain the glove that had gotten peed on. Well, he would just tell them about the baby. Easy enough.

Quiet murmurs in the main room caught his attention, and he glanced out the open door to see Edric talking to the innkeeper across the counter. Maybe he was apologizing, from the way his fists were clenched at his sides.

Farkas looked back to his armor, not about to embarrass his mate further by watching. Meeko came running into the room, checking everything out as he always did, though he seemed really interested in the wardrobe. Farkas couldn't wait to get the dog back to Jorrvaskr and see what everyone thought of him. Tilma might fuss at first, but he thought she would really like the dog. The dog sure wasn't going to go on jobs with them, so he could hang around the mead hall and keep her company. Skjor probably wouldn't care, and the whelps didn't have much say. Aela would probably be indifferent. Vilkas…

Vilkas would probably pretend to be annoyed by the dog. Well, maybe he really would be annoyed at first. But Vilkas had wanted a dog when they were kids. They both had. Vilkas didn't really have much say in it, none of the Companions did, because Edric was going to do what he wanted anyway, and besides, it was _their_ dog. Both of them. Maybe the Dragonborn had been the one to win Meeko over, but the dog liked Farkas nearly as much, he was sure of it.

He heard the shuffle of boots in the doorway and felt a pang of worry, and he looked up to see his man standing there watching him, expression neutral. Farkas sighed and held his hand out. "Come in and close the door, honey," he said. "Everything's okay. I promise." Edric nodded, the coolness not easing up, and he closed the door and slid the bolt then came over and took Farkas' hand. The bigger man tugged him down to sit on the edge of the bed. He kissed his husband's temple then ran his fingers back through the strands of white there. "I love you."

"I love you too, Farkas." Edric let out a long breath then leaned close for a kiss.

He didn't say anything about what had just happened, and Farkas wasn't about to either. He went back to cleaning his armor, and his mate stood and began stripping off his own. Edric's was in better shape than Farkas', near perfect really since he hadn't fought at close range much.

"There's a secret room down there."

Farkas blinked and looked up. "Huh?"

Edric rapped his knuckles on the wardrobe. "Secret door."

He blinked some more then slowly said, "Okay." The dog had seemed really interested, but...he didn't know how to feel about that other than stunned. He watched Edric open the wardrobe then run his hands over the interior. "Why?" the Companion finally blurted out. "Is it here, I mean?"

"I told you about Delphine. This was her hideout."

It suddenly all made sense. "Right," he said in relief. "Okay." The Blade. He remembered now. Edric made a sound of satisfaction and the door slid open, and a draft of cold air came flowing up from below. Farkas set aside the cuirass and cleaning paste and went to look, wildly curious. It was dark down there, but his mate threw rainbow-colored magic into the air then started down.

The dog rushed down and Farkas followed close behind, a spooky feeling coming over him. He remembered a lot of it now, how Delphine had tricked Edric into coming here then made him go halfway across Skyrim to prove what he was by taking a dragon soul in front of her. It had been obvious how much Edric had disliked both Blades, and he had told both to go to Oblivion over some falling out they had, he wouldn't say what. There were some secrets that not even Farkas had the right to know.

Edric grunted as he looked over the room, empty of anything of value. There was a table in the middle, bookshelves, weapon racks, open chests, an alchemy table and an enchanting table. Meeko had to inspect everything, poking his nose into every corner. "Cleaned out," Edric muttered. "Wonder when she moved it all?" He shook his head. "Not that it matters. The Blades can go fuck themselves on a rusty fencepost for all I care."

Farkas grimaced at the mental image that produced. This was really interesting though, seeing a place he had only heard about through Edric's stories, which he was pretty sure he still hadn't heard even half of. "And they're just hanging out in that temple still?" he asked.

"Could be. Don't really care, as long as they stay away from me and don't make any demands. They've left me alone for a long while. Probably because the last time we talked I threatened to kill them both if they so much as breathed my way again." The light winked out and he cast another. "They wanted me to kill the leader of the Greybeards for them, " he muttered, folding his arms. "You're the only person I've ever told this, love. Other than Ulfric, and only because he was one of them."

"Got it." He was good at keeping secrets. Not a problem. It was nice that Edric was trusting him with something like this.

"This is someone I hold in great personal esteem. He is very, very old. But he committed atrocities when he was young. War criminal, I guess you'd say. He's spent the rest of his life on top of the Throat of the World, pondering his crimes, meditating on the Way of the Voice. He taught me more than the Greybeards ever could have hoped to, maybe because we were more alike, who knows. Delphine and Esbern were adamant that he needed to die for what he did in the distant past. I did not agree. They said I would no longer receive their 'help'." Edric made quotes with his fingers. "They didn't help me with shit. They treated me like their fucking errand boy."

"D'you think they'd try to go after the leader of the Greybeards on their own?"

Edric sputtered in contempt. "Unless they can scale the mountainside, not likely. High Hrothgar blocks the only path up to the summit. Even if they could somehow get in the doors, which are barred from the inside, they would face the Greybeards, who could kill _me_ if they really wanted to." He stared at the table in front of him, a haunted look on his face all of a sudden. "I should go up there," he mumbled.

"To talk to Kynareth?"

"Shout at Kyne, more like. But yes." He rubbed the back of his neck, rotating his head. "Don't know how else to make her hear me, but...gods help me, I don't want to go back there."

Farkas felt Edric's dread of it, just a little, and he moved close to put his hand to his mate's neck to rub it. He didn't tell him not to go. Farkas didn't really understand anything about gods, or shouting, or the Greybeards, but if the Greybeards had put High Hrothgar where it was so they could worship Kyne up there, then that was the best place to go if Edric wanted to get her favor back. If he even could.

"It's cold," the Dragonborn whispered. "In the monastery, I mean. Stone fucking beds. Shitty preserved food. _Ascetic_. Cold and comfortless." A tremor went through him. "You know what they did after Sovngarde? They healed me up enough to move me, carried me down the mountain, and put me on one of those stone beds and patched me up as best they could then walked away. I kept begging them to kill me, for two days, until I was up and moving again. Kept begging them to let me see my face. They didn't bother to answer, other than to tell me to turn to Kynareth for comfort. Didn't say a word about what happened, what I saw in Shor's hall. Didn't ask why I kept crying for Ralof, didn't offer a single fucking shred of compassion, for two days. Then I got mad. Wasn't until I dragged myself out of bed and started trashing the place that they started to talk. Told them I wanted my armor and my weapons. I got dressed and rode Arvak down the mountain and all the way to Windhelm, intent on killing Ulfric. What good was peace without the man I loved to enjoy it with?"

Farkas' hand went still. He could smell the anger and distress coming from his mate, could feel wisps of it now and then. He could only imagine what Edric was feeling from him, because he was pretty damn upset at the moment, seeing in his mind's eye everything his man was describing. It made him want to start bawling, the thought of Edric burnt and maimed, lying alone on a hard stone bed, grieving and in pain, with no one there to even hold his hand as he wept for his dead husband. Why did the Greybeards bother to save him only to leave him to suffer?

And yet Farkas couldn't help being glad that they had. Maybe it was selfish of him, but he was glad that Edric had lived. He hated what the Dragonborn had been through, though. He would never stop being grateful that he hadn't seen Edric's face that day in Windhelm, like Vilkas had.

"I'm sorry," Edric muttered. The magic light went out and he made another then turned to move into Farkas' arms. "This is hard to hear, I know."

"I don't care," Farkas said in a near growl. "You've got to get it out. It just...it makes me mad, how much you've gone through alone." He couldn't get mad at Edric's mother, who had still been a kid herself when Edric was born, who had brain damage or whatever, because even with all that she had still done her best, she'd kept Edric fed and safe, and loved, even if maybe it hadn't been quite good enough. He couldn't blame Ralof either, who'd had his own responsibilities in the Stormcloaks, who had never been able to spend more than a few days at a time with his own husband before they had to go their separate ways again. He could damn well blame Ulfric for lying though, and he could damn well blame the Greybeards for not having the basic human decency to comfort someone who was sad and in pain.

His mate whispered, "I'm not alone now."

"Never again."

"Never again," Edric agreed. He nuzzled his nose into Farkas' neck, then the patch of hair peeking out of the shirt, breathing in his scent. "I apologized to the innkeeper."

"I thought so. I'm glad, honey."

"I shouldn't have been snotty, but...Hadvar." His hands bunched in Farkas' shirt. "Looking at him kept reminding me that Ralof is dead, and Hadvar isn't."

"Do you want him to be?" Farkas asked with worry. He hadn't thought that Hadvar had really done anything worth that level of dislike. He got why Hadvar hated Edric, or seemed to. A lot of people probably did. It wasn't a good thought.

Edric hesitated then sighed, "No."

Well that was a relief to hear. He gave his mate a nudge and moved towards the stairs, pulling him along. "Let's go to bed. After I finish up my armor, I mean."

Edric let himself get herded upstairs, where he whistled for the dog then locked up the secret door, even if there wasn't anything left to keep secret anymore.

Meeko settled on the floor and Farkas back on the bed, picking up his armor to continue cleaning it. Edric sat down behind him and laid his head on his back, just as he had during that first hunt, when Farkas had told him how he felt. Blessed Mara but he was glad that he had found the courage to do that.

His mate lifted his head, then Farkas felt strong hands on his back, and he paused what he was doing long enough to shuck off his shirt. He felt a kiss between his shoulder blades then warm hands on his skin and gods did it feel good. As he rubbed his back Edric began to hum, a tune he had heard him play on the lute, and if there was a better way to spend an evening on the road Farkas didn't know what it was.

* * *

Farkas grunted when he left the room and didn't see Edric anywhere, though he saw that the dog was sitting by Hadvar, wagging his tail and whining as the man tried to eat breakfast at one of the tables.

"Meeko!" he called. "C'mere and stop begging!"

Hadvar didn't turn as he waved his hand and muttered, "No worries. He's not a bother."

He took the man at his word and went to get breakfast of his own. It was porridge and hard-boiled eggs, nothing fancy but good enough for him. He thought Edric's porridge was really good, though Tilma's was best, of course. He asked Orgnar, "Where'd he go?" There was really only one 'he' that could mean. Edric's armor was still in their room, but his boots were gone.

"Beats me," the innkeeper groused as he turned away.

 _Thanks for nothing_ , Farkas thought with annoyance, but unlike his man he could think something without being so rude as to say it.

"Outside," Hadvar stated.

"Okay. Thanks," Farkas said with a nod.

Hadvar leaned over and slapped the bench next to him. "Room here if you want the company, Companion."

Farkas didn't really, mostly because it was Hadvar and he was afraid of sticking his foot in his mouth, or worse yet Edric coming in and seeing them eating together, but it was a kind offer, and so he did. He took the seat and decided to just get things out in the open. It was always better to have things out in the open. He'd learned that lesson the hard way, after hiding so much from his brother for so long. "I uh, I'm not making excuses for him," he began, then popped an egg in his mouth.

"Good."

"It's just...being here in Riverwood is hard for him. Because of Ralof."

"So they really were married, then."

"Yeah. For years. Not sure how much that meant, being apart a lot of the time."

"Never thought Ralof fancied men," Hadvar said in a thoughtful tone. "He chased anything in a skirt. Was sweet on this girl from Helgen for the longest time, can't remember her name, but he always swore that he was going to marry her someday."

Farkas didn't know what to say to that, but he hoped to the Nine that Edric never heard any of this. It sure as hell wouldn't help.

Hadvar said with a laugh, "But then Edric chased anything with three legs, if you get my meaning. As long as they were up to his standards, anyway. Suppose when you look like that it's easy enough to do. We were recruits together, in Solitude. He tell you that?"

"Yeah." Farkas didn't really want to hear about Edric's past either. It wasn't a threat, and he could hardly be jealous considering there would never be anyone else ever again, but that didn't mean he wanted that image in his mind's eye.

"He was a pain in the ass back then too."

Farkas snorted a laugh at that, unable to take offense because it was kind of true. "Yeah, he's feisty."

Hadvar said with an edge to his voice, "He's arrogant. And don't tell me it's because he's Dragonborn. He was always like that, even when we were kids. Followed orders just enough to avoid getting kicked out. Wanted to be better than everyone else. And maybe he was. He worked harder than anyone else, I'll grant him that. When his unit came to Helgen in 201, he was worse, though. Cocky. Like some fancy showhorse chomping at the bit, more in love with himself than ever and always on the edge of insubordination. Can't say I was surprised when he turned."

The Companion wasn't really sure what insubordination meant, but he gathered it was bad. "He told me why he did. You really want to know why, you talk to him." Farkas got up from his seat. He hadn't taken it just to get lectured by someone with a grudge against his husband. "Sometimes a man's got to hold to what he believes in, even if that means not following orders," he finished, "and that's all I've got to say."

Hadvar sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I wasn't trying to drive you off, Companion."

"Well you did," he grumbled. "He's my man and I'm not going to listen to it. I know what he's like, but you don't know what he's been through, and not just the last four years either." The former Legionnaire muttered something but Farkas didn't stick around to hear it, taking his bowl and heading back to his room, calling Meeko on the way. The dog jumped to his feet and followed. No, Farkas wasn't going to sit there and let someone talk like that about his husband, let alone try to eat while he was doing it.

He finished his breakfast then pulled on a pair of boots and grabbed what coin he had brought with him and headed to the merchants'. The air had a bite to it, but it wasn't raining. Edric was probably saying his prayers somewhere. They were right at the base of the Throat of the World, so he could be anywhere in town and still see the mountain, though he wouldn't want people watching him while he prayed.

The Riverwood Trader was just opening, and Farkas was able to buy a big box of the tea. The owner's sister, Camilla, insisted that he buy a fancy metal thing on a delicate chain that held the tea in the water, and at first he thought she was pulling his leg until she showed him how it worked. He supposed that made sense.

He paid for everything then wandered back out into the street, wondering how Gerdur and Hod had managed with the little guy the night before. Eivind might not want to leave them, but it wasn't safe for him to stay in Riverwood. If his mother turned back she would follow the road, just as she would know they had done.

Finding his man was easy enough. All he had to do was look across the river and he could see him sitting on a large stump, facing the mountain, clutching the amulet, eyes closed and lips moving. People were moving about town and doing a decent job of ignoring the Dragonborn, in fact there was a guard standing on the footbridge near Alvor and Sigrid's house, blocking the way. Farkas supposed as a Thane that Edric could tell the guards to do whatever he wanted, within reason.

Farkas took the tea inside to put with their gear and got himself another bowl of porridge and headed back outside to watch his mate, not content to leave his privacy in someone else's hands, guards or not. He took a seat on the low stone wall, keeping one eye on his man and the other on the town. After about five minutes Hadvar left the inn and went over to the blacksmith's, where Alvor was already at work, pounding away on something.

Edric finished his prayers and opened his eyes, his gaze going right to Farkas, then a sweet smile crossed his face. He rose, tucking the amulet into his shirt, then came to join the warrior. Meeko wagged his tail and grinned, and Edric laughed and patted the dog's head. He smelled his hand and made a face, muttering, "Someone's getting a bath tonight."

"Maybe you should stop smelling your hand," Farkas said with amusement. Edric did almost every time, and every time he made a face or complained.

"Maybe. But then maybe-" He cut off as Farkas held a spoonful of porridge out to him. Edric eyed it warily then took it, and after he swallowed he smirked and asked, "Trying to keep my mouth shut, _miingi?_ "

"Not sure anything can do that for long."

Edric barked out a laugh. "Someone's feeling a little sassy this morn-"

Farkas held out another spoonful, and his man laughed again, more freely this time, then took the bite. After he swallowed he stayed silent, smirking at Farkas, who reached out and smoothed his thumb over his husband's lips and murmured, "I like your mouth either way, open or shut." Edric's eyes widened a bit as his lips parted, and to Farkas' surprise he blushed a little. That almost never happened, but then Farkas didn't usually say things like this either, afraid of sounding stupid. It was nice to not have to worry about that anymore.

"Do you, then?" his husband whispered.

"I do."

He blew out a gentle breath then took Farkas' hand and held it against his cheek, rubbing against it as he held his man's eyes. "Fuck the Companions," he muttered. "Let's run away together."

Farkas panicked for a split second before realizing his mate was joking. He tried not to smile as he said, "Sounds good. Where to?"

"Stros M'kai. We'll become pirates. We'll be the terror of the Abecean Sea."

He couldn't help smiling at that. "Do I have to get my ears pierced?"

"Yes, of course. Every pirate does. It's a rite of passage." He lifted an eyebrow and added, "I've heard they get other things pierced too."

Farkas had to laugh, and Edric chuckled and kissed his palm. "Who's gonna be the captain?" the Companion asked.

"Thought we might take turns."

"Eh, I don't like giving orders. You can be in charge."

His mate's chuckle deepened and he said, "I do like being in charge. You can be my cabin boy, then." He reached out and squeezed Farkas' bicep. "My brawny cabin boy."

The Companion laughed more loudly at that mental image. He liked this side of Edric, flirty and playful, something that was even rarer than his laughter. It was nice to be able to joke around like this. Gods knew that once they got back to Jorrvaskr it wouldn't be quite so easy to find things to laugh about.

He offered Edric another bite of porridge, and his man shook his head and said, "Nah, I already ate. Thank you." He looked down at the dog. "I also fed you, regardless of what you think."

"Yeah, he was begging," Farkas stated. He wasn't going to say from who. He stood up from the wall and kissed his husband's forehead. "We better head out soon. Don't want to get back too late." They were already a few days behind as it was and everyone was probably worried.

"Aye." Edric's pleasure dimmed, and he frowned and mumbled, "Should take care of business before we go."

He said in a tone of sympathy, "Yeah. But I'll be right by you, honey." Ralof wouldn't know the difference if they didn't visit, but Edric would feel bad if he didn't.

They went back inside and dressed in their armor then packed up, and the closer they got to leaving the more Farkas felt Edric's dread grow. He wished he could make it better, but there wasn't much he could do other than be there.

They saddled the horses and got their gear tied on then walked them down to the western end of town. The few people they passed were silent, and as they moved to pass through the wall Edric came to a dead stop, a spike of anxiety coming from him.

Farkas looked at the closest guard and asked, "Could you watch these? Just for a few minutes?" He held out the reins.

The man nodded and came over to take them. "Sure Companion," he murmured. "Take your time."

Farkas took the reins from Edric and handed them over, then he took his mate's hand and whispered, "I'm here, sweetheart." Edric gripped his hand, too tight for comfort, but he wasn't about to let go, not for anything. His mate's eyes were watery already and he was trembling, but his feet began to move forward.

The small graveyard looked the same as before, and there was Ralof's grave, covered with flat stones and marked with a rough headstone engraved with an R. The few nightshades that grew here had turned brown and had fallen over, gone for the year.

His breath caught at the surge of grief that came from his husband, enough to bring tears to his own eyes. This...this was _hard_ , feeling something so horrible and sad, and it wasn't like he was feeling it himself but close enough.

Edric let go of his hand, something Farkas wasn't expecting. He clamped his lips shut against a whine of worry and sadness as his man knelt down next to the grave and leaned over it, laying his hands on the stones, and when Edric leaned further and laid his forehead against where Ralof's head had to be Farkas couldn't keep it in anymore. He wiped his cheeks as he listened to his mate talking through tears to Ralof, too low and choked to be understood even with a wolf's hearing. He didn't think Edric was speaking in the dragon tongue, and it wasn't like Ralof could understand it either way. Edric was doing this for himself, and Farkas had to remind himself this was a good thing no matter how painful it was. The Dragonborn hadn't been able to see the body of his husband, or attend the funeral, and grief wasn't a rational thing with steps that always came in a certain order.

No, this was a good thing, even if it broke his heart to watch it and to feel what it was doing to the man he loved. Farkas had always known that it would take time for Edric to work out all the things he had sat on for so long, and now...now all he could think about at this moment was the Dragonborn lying on a stone bed in agonizing pain, alone, crying like this, with no one to comfort him.

That thought made him move, because damn if he was going to stand here watching Edric mourning and leave him to do it alone, even if he wasn't really alone.

He knelt down at Edric's side, close enough that they were leg to leg, and laid his hand on the other man's back, not easy to feel through armor but heavy enough that Edric knew it was there. Meeko had followed and was pacing around anxiously, as if sensing that his masters were upset. And they were, they really were.

The smaller man sat up and his eyes were red and his face wet. Farkas clucked his tongue and put an arm around him, handing him a kerchief. He had stuck a couple of them in his armor, just like last time, knowing today of all days that they would be needed.

"Some part of me wishes they'd burned him," Edric choked. "I hate thinking about his body being under the ground. I know it's what he wanted, but…" He wiped his face and blew his nose. "But he's here, and… and I know he's here and I...I can talk to him, even if he can't hear me."

"Yeah," Farkas whispered, nodding. He couldn't really get anything else out. He was closer to bawling than he had been in, well, a really long time.

"I still have to talk to Hod and I'm terrified of it. I know he's going to tell me all the things Ray told him that he couldn't tell me, and I want to know, but I _don't_ want to know because then I'll feel like shit for expecting too much all those years and resenting him." He blew his nose again. "I keep thinking about what Gerdur told me the last time we visited, and the things you've said, and wondering if maybe once the war was over and we settled in Windhelm he would've finally come around and started trying more things. Sometimes...once in a while it would seem like he wanted to, but...we never had the time. We'd get a few days, maybe a week to start getting used to each other again, then we wouldn't see each other for a month or more."

Farkas grunted and dug out the other handkerchief, his own tears finally getting the better of him. He hadn't really thought he would be needing one for himself. He could wipe tears away but the snotty nose was a different problem.

At the sound of him blowing his nose, his mate looked up at him then made a sound of grief. "Ah fuck, I didn't mean to make you cry too, _miingi_ ," he said in a rough voice.

"S'okay," he mumbled. He didn't think he had ever really cried in front of Edric before, not that he could remember. It wasn't like he was _weeping_ or anything. And it wasn't like there was anything wrong with crying. Tilma had always said it was good for you, that it let all the bad things out, kind of like sweating. And how could he not cry when he could feel how upset his mate was? And the things his man was saying were cutting right to the bone. Edric leaned into him and took his hand, and he found himself asking, "What did you call him?"

"What?"

"Like how you call me _miingi_." Surely Edric had once had a pet name for Ralof too.

"Oh." Edric sniffed. " _Hili_. I called him _hili_. My heart."

Farkas nodded, smiling briefly. "That's real nice." It was, and that was the gods' honest truth. If he used to be uncomfortable with how Edric had once been around, something he knew was unworthy of him, he had never been jealous of Edric's husband. _First_ husband.

"He…" Edric sniffed again and let out a tiny laugh. "He thought it was cute. It didn't come until later, after we were married." He let out a heavy sigh. "I still… Why. I don't know why he agreed to marry me. I know what Gerdur said, that he was happy about it, and he was, I could tell he was. He was surprised but he said yes and he was happy. We hadn't even really...we'd only been together half a dozen times, and when I asked…" He laughed again, rubbing his nose. "We'd just gotten out of Korvanjund with the Jagged Crown. Galmar sent him with me to get it back to Ulfric, and...he was so proud. He'd seen me learn a word of power from a word wall inside the ruin, and still he treated me like a person. It was right after that, on the way to Windhelm...we stopped at the Nightgate Inn, and he said, 'A room for me and my man'. He'd never called me that before, and that night was the first time I let him have me. When we got to Windhelm I asked him to marry me. I said it partly as a joke, to give him an out. I didn't dream he would actually say yes, but he did, and he was happy. We both were."

That was more than Farkas could take, and he sucked in a shuddering breath and put the handkerchief over his eyes. The whole thing was too hard to hear without breaking down a little. He was glad Edric could talk about this, especially right here and now. He didn't mind hearing all this, he really didn't, but Mara's mercy it hurt, and right on the heels of feeling Edric's grief. There had been real love there between Edric and Ralof, and Farkas didn't believe for one second that it hadn't gone both ways. Of course Edric's love had been stronger, but there had to have been at least some affection and the hope for love to grow for Ralof to have said yes.

"Gods, I'm sorry."

"No," Farkas croaked, shaking his head. He felt Edric lean against him and he tightened his arm around his mate's shoulders. It was healthy that Edric was talking about this, and better yet that he was remembering the good things, because there had to have been mostly good things.

They stayed like that for a good two or three minutes, holding each other. The tears dried up, which was good, because Farkas felt drained. He would be there for his man however Edric needed him to be, but by the Nine was he worn out from this trip. Most of it had been good, but he was looking forward to being back home. There were hard things to deal with there, Vilkas, the Silver Hand, but still it would be nice to be back in their own bed for a bit, before Skjor and Aela had the four of them go off after a new target.

Damn but that made him feel tired. The thought of going right back out again made him want to crawl into bed and pull the covers over his head and never leave again. Maybe he was just getting too old for this shit. Him and Vilkas both.

A throat cleared nearby. "Eh...Edric…" Hod. It was Hod. A tremor went through Edric, and Hod went on in an awkward tone, "Maybe this isn't...well I reckon there'll never be a good time…"

The Dragonborn squeezed Farkas' leg then sat up straight and said in a rough voice, "Good enough."

The Companion nodded and climbed to his feet. He petted his mate's hair then walked away, nodding to Hod who waited by the wall, clearly nervous. It couldn't be easy for the guy, being the one to have to tell someone these things, whatever those things were, especially this certain someone. Brother-in-law or not, it was still intimidating.

Farkas collected the horses and led them back down the road a little bit to give his man and Hod some space. The guards were respectful and did the same. He didn't go far, maybe twenty feet into town, then stopped to blow his nose again. He winced as he felt the stabs of emotion from his husband, and it only grew worse from there, surges of grief tangled up with shocked, confused happiness, and loss, so much loss. Maybe that was what was worst for Edric, all the might-have-beens, not so much what was gone but what would never happen. He would get all that with Farkas, and more, but what they had couldn't change the fact that Edric had loved Ralof and would never know what kind of life they could've had together.

A few fresh tears welled up, and he grumbled and wiped those away too. He had known that the mating bond would be hard at times. Being mated to someone who had a lot of hurt in his past, that was a given, but he accepted that. He always had, ever since bonding had become a real possibility, even after realizing who the man he loved was. He just wished he could make it better when Edric was feeling bad. Wasn't there some way to do that? But even if there was, maybe he didn't have the right to take away what his mate was feeling. It wasn't like Edric wasn't entitled to how he felt.

He sighed heavily as he felt Meeko bump into his leg, and he reached down and rubbed the dog's head. When he straightened up again he happened to look over at the smithy, and he was annoyed to see Hadvar standing at the corner by the water, arms folded and a deep frown on his face as he watched the graveyard. Good. He should see Edric crying and hurt. He should see that the Dragonborn was a real man with real feelings. Edric could use some compassion going the other direction too, but this wasn't the time for that to happen.

A woman's voice quietly called his name, and he looked the opposite direction to see Gerdur coming out from between the houses, Eivind in her arms. Right. Farkas had forgotten all about the kid.

She came up close and said with sympathy, "It's hard, yeah?"

"Yeah," Farkas grumbled.

"But good, I hope? That he finally made it all the way. To the grave, I mean."

"Think so. This was all his idea." He blew his nose. "Things are getting better. He talked about stuff a little just now. Happy memories." He huffed and added with resentment, "The Greybeards didn't do anything for him. The whole time he was up there. All that time he should've been talking it out and grieving like other people do, and instead they had him shouting at the sky for months. Then Ulfric forced him down off the mountain by drying up the booze, but...I don't know, maybe that was a good thing." The longer Edric would've stayed at High Hrothgar, the longer it would've taken him to come to grips with his loss.

"I think so." Gerdur clucked her tongue and shook her head. "I hope what Hod has to tell him helps. It'll hurt to hear, I'm sure of it, but he should hear it. My brother _loved_ him, even if he never got the chance to figure out how to show it." Farkas nodded in agreement. She took a deep breath then said in a lighter tone, "Well! We had quite the nice time with the little one. We'd forgotten how sweet it felt to have a baby snuggled between us." She handed over Eivind's bag. "We washed the dirty clothes and diapers. Might be a bit damp still, but you'll be back in Whiterun by evening. Do you have a foster family picked out yet?"

"Nah, but we'll figure it out."

"Have you thought about keeping him? The two of you? Just until his ma comes for him, I mean."

Farkas shook his head, his nose wrinkled. "Uh uh. Too much going on in Jorrvaskr these days to have a baby there. We're pushing it with the dog. And me and Edie are always doing jobs. Little guy's better off with a family for a couple weeks." It might not even be that long, if the woman was able to find a ride back to Whiterun quickly. Morthal didn't have a standing carriage service like a lot of other towns did, but traders or someone else who was traveling might be around and be willing to help her out for a bit of coin.

"Edie," she said in a tone of wonder.

"He likes it," Farkas stated, hoping it didn't sound defensive.

"I think it's lovely." She switched Eivind to the other hip, and the toddler clung tightly to her, watching Farkas with big blue eyes. He looked like he could've been her own son. "So he really is dried out, then?" she asked.

"Yeah, for good." Farkas lowered his voice and went on, "It was hard. Really, really hard. Almost killed him." Gerdur's face fell. "But he's been clean for a few weeks, well, no, I guess it's been a month now. Not a drop. I can tell he still wants it sometimes, bad, but he's doing his best." It had been a while though since the cravings had hit, that Farkas could tell. A week, at least. He didn't think they would be so lucky that they were gone for good. Arcadia had been pretty clear that there was no way that would happen.

She murmured, "I'm glad. Ralof knew there was a problem there. Kept asking him to cut back, and he would try, but it never lasted long." She reached out and squeezed Farkas' arm. "You're so good for him, Farkas. Truly. You saved his life, you know that? In more ways than one."

Farkas gave her a brief smile. "I try to be. Good for him, I mean."

"You _are_."

Movement to the side drew her attention, and Farkas looked that way to see Hadvar turning back to help his uncle at the forge. The Companion muttered, "They uh, had words last night."

"I'm sure they did," she sighed. "Haven't had a chance to talk to him yet. Haven't _taken_ the chance, more like. I got no hard feelings against him, or anyone else who held to their values, even if those values aren't the same as mine. Lots of people would have harsh words for the Dragonborn, if they weren't terrified of him, but he and Hadvar knew each other before. Not the way Ralof and Hadvar did. Me too, I suppose, growing up together as we did." She frowned a bit. "Reckon I should talk to him, after this. Too many people steering clear of him, afraid to ask why he's here and not with the Legion."

"Edric asked."

"Oh, I bet he did, and in an Edric sort of way. That doesn't go over so well with a lot of people. He has to be that way, to do what he does. He's Dragonborn. Can't be what he is and walk on eggshells." Farkas grunted in agreement. "So!" Her tone turned brisk and cheerful and she kissed the toddler on the cheek. "We had our fun, little cub. Time to go with the Companions until your mama gets back, yeah?" She held out Eivind to Farkas, and the baby screamed and grabbed for her. "Now now, you were just fine with them yesterday," she chided, her tone firm. Farkas winced, and she shoved the toddler into his arms. "Come on, come on, take the boy and stop being squeamish. He'll be fine in a moment."

The big man took Eivind, who wailed miserably. "If you say so," he muttered, doubting it.

"I told you, this is good practice. For the future, yeah?"

He really hoped the future didn't involve this much screaming. Maybe when the time came they could adopt a little bit older kid. Three or four. Maybe five. A kid that could use a chamber pot reliably, and could talk and be reasoned with.

"There you go," Gerdur said with a nod, as if everything was fine and the baby wasn't shrieking. "I'm going to go say goodbye to Edric, all right? You take care and come visit again, and next time you're staying with us, yeah?"

"Sure. If Edie's okay with it." She beamed at him, pretty as a sunbeam. Like her brother. Farkas couldn't remember Ralof well, just vague memories of a big blond Stormcloak walking the city with the Dragonborn, though Edric's face had been hidden inside a steel plate helmet. It was hard, thinking they had been married then. Farkas thought the man had been handsome, but that had sort of been the last thing on anyone's mind right after the city had been taken. Gerdur was beautiful, he knew that much, and it wasn't as if he didn't like women just enough to appreciate that, and Edric had implied that Gerdur and Ralof looked a lot alike.

The mill owner gave him a pat on the arm, ruffled Eivind's hair, then headed for the graveyard. The baby cried even harder, and Farkas groaned and squatted down, hoping the dog could distract him. Meeko hurried over and and sniffed the toddler, whose cries turned into little huffed whimpers. The dog licked the baby's face and Eivind squealed and turned away, towards Farkas, but he had stopped crying.

When Edric rejoined him, his mate's eyes and nose were puffy and red, but he felt calmer now, just the occasional bit of sadness getting through. "Let's go," he whispered. "We'll talk later."

"Okay," Farkas agreed. He understood why his man didn't want to talk now. He handed Eivind's bag to Edric, who put it on his horse then held the toddler while Farkas mounted. He handed the baby to the bigger man then got on his own horse and immediately rode off without looking back.

The Companion followed, glancing once at the smithy, and Hadvar was watching the Dragonborn's retreating back. He felt Farkas' attention and nodded to him then went back to work. Maybe a bit of sympathy from Hadvar and some bending on Edric's part might let the two meet halfway. It seemed a shame to let things fester when Hadvar was probably one of the few people left who had known Edric for any length of time when he was young, before he was Dragonborn. Or had known that he was, anyway.

The ride back home was quiet, and Eivind settled and was content to listen to Farkas pointing things out and talking. He would felt little punches of grief every so often from his mate, or a sort of sweet wistfulness, when he would catch Edric watching him with the toddler. Farkas would smile and leave it at that, giving his man as much space as he needed. It was usually best to leave Edric to sort out his thoughts on his own and let him talk when he felt ready to.

He wasn't ready even when they had reached the outskirts of the city and dropped off the horses, just when the sun was going down. Edric carried the toddler's bag while Farkas carried Eivind. He didn't mind. Edric wasn't entirely comfortable with the kid, and there wasn't much reason for him to try to be at this point. Not if they weren't keeping him, which they weren't.

The Khajiit were camped outside the walls, for the first time since Edric had come to Whiterun, and he watched his mate pause and gaze at the catfolk for a moment with a thoughtful expression then go over to them, to the bigger man's surprise. Farkas usually kept his distance from them, not trusting that he wasn't going to get pickpocketed, but Edric seemed okay with them, speaking politely, and weirdly enough in the third person the way the cats sometimes did. He had never heard his man talk like this before, and he hung back with the baby, who was staring at the Khajiit with huge eyes, his finger in his mouth, like he couldn't make sense of what he was looking at. Farkas supposed Eivind had never seen someone of another race before, maybe not even elves. Meeko was making a pest of himself, running through the camp and sticking his nose into everything, earning hisses of displeasure, until Farkas called him to heel and ordered him back.

"Forgive my abruptness, Ri'saad," Edric said, "however this one has a question and is pressed for time."

"Perhaps this one has an answer," the catman said. He motioned to the rug in front of him. "Come, sit." Edric lowered himself to sit cross-legged in front of the Khajiit. "You know my name, stranger. Have we met?"

"Yes, here and there. We've made mutually beneficial transactions over the years." He set his pack in front of him and began looking through it. The Khajiit waited patiently, stroking his whiskers and watching Edric with slitted yellow eyes. Edric dug out the walnut box, and when he opened it Ri'saad sat back, eyes widening in surprise.

"Ahhh," he said with pleasure. "I had not thought to see these again. My dearest Bhisha carved these some years ago, in happier times. May I?" Edric nodded, and the Khajiit plucked the comb from the velvet with deft, clawed fingers. "It pleases me to see this being used. Beautiful things should not be left hidden away. For such a thing, to be unused is to be unloved." He picked up the velvet and took out the compact, and when he opened it his eyes narrowed then he made a tutting sound. "Ah, but this is a shame. What a terrible accident."

"It was no accident. It was vandalism. Wanton destruction for the sake of ruining something beautiful. This was my birthday gift, from a loved one, and envy drove someone to break it."

The cat made a soft hissing sound as he shook his head. "More terrible still."

"The one who did it is dead."

"Clearly no great loss."

"Clearly."

"I see why you have come to me," Ri'saad said with a nod as he closed the compact. He carefully put both items away as he said, "This one regrets to inform you that we have no replacement for the mirror. It was a very rare piece to come across, you see. The case was carved to hold that particular mirror."

Edric nodded slowly and closed the case. As he put it in his pack he asked, "Any ideas as to where I might find a replacement?"

"Hammerfell, of course."

"Oh, of course. I'll mount a dragon and head out right away."

Ri'saad sat back a bit more, the slightest bit, then his eyes flicked over to Farkas, then back to Edric. "Ah," he said in a light tone, his nerves obvious even in a race that was often hard to read. Edric closed the flap of his backpack and buckled it then met the cat's gaze. "This one can be slow, at times," Ri'saad said with a chuckle, baring his teeth in what might be a smile. "It is my age, perhaps."

Edric held his eyes as he stated, "This one is very rich, and would like very much to replace the mirror."

"Yes, I can see that. Still, one must realize how difficult this task is, no matter the amount of coin involved."

"One does. However I can be very patient when need be. Even if this task takes years."

"It very well might."

"So be it." Edric leaned his elbow on his knee. "I have more than coin to offer in trade, not only for the mirror but for your precious time. High-quality mammoth ivory is hard to come by, however I have a good stock of something much rarer."

The Khajiit waved his hand and said, "I mean no disrespect, but I know where you are going with, eh… May this one call you Dragonborn?"

"It's what I am."

"Our caravans stopped taking dragon bones several years ago. Many scavengers follow in your wake, you see. Dragon parts are no longer so very rare."

"These aren't dragon bones. Or scales. These have nothing to do with dragons at all." He leaned further forward. "Frost giant ivory. And horns."

Farkas barely heard, quiet as his mate was talking, and so at first he thought he heard wrong. _Frost_ giant? What in Oblivion was a frost giant?

Edric went on, "Their tusks are about yay big." He held his fingers about four inches apart. "Hard ivory, harder than a mammoth's tusk. Their horns are black and shiny as obsidian, thick and carvable, like an ox horn, but black all the way through."

The Khajiit's eyes glittered, and he purred, "I have never heard of such creatures."

"They were only found in the Forgotten Vale, deep in the mountains west of Haafingar, and there were only five of them, much rarer than dragons. I've got twenty tusks and ten horns, all in excellent condition, locked away in the Reach. The next time you're outside Markarth, I could be convinced to show you samples."

"One might happen to be in the area after the turning of the year. The end of Sun's Dawn, perhaps, once the most bitter part of winter has passed. At such a time, this one may have some better idea as to the scope of the task."

Edric nodded and rose to his feet. "This one looks forward to it and is grateful." He bowed to Ri'saad. "May the road lead you to warm sands, elder."

The Khajiit inclined his head. "Khenarthi's winds guide your feet, Dragonborn."

He put the pack on his shoulder and nodded to Farkas, who was so confused by the whole conversation that he didn't even know what questions to ask. Eivind had stayed still and silent through it all, his eyes flitting from one of the catfolk to the other. The entire caravan had watched the exchange from a distance, making no secret of it.

As they rounded the bend towards the gate Edric explained, "He's going to try to find a new mirror."

"I got that much," Farkas said, trying not to sound like a baby about it. "They only have them in Hammerfell."

His mate grunted and shook his head. "Hammerfell is the only place he knows of off the top of his head, but he has other sources. Contacts, connections. He's the main point person for all the caravans, from what I can tell. The honorific at the beginning of his name, Ri, means he's someone with a great deal of authority or influence." He paused then added, "I get along with the cats just fine. The problem is that no one tries to understand them or their culture at all. I don't trust them much more than anyone else, but I've got no issues with them, and it doesn't hurt to establish good relations with them." Farkas didn't answer, and Edric lightly bumped into him and murmured, "I know that you know that I was trying to get a new mirror. I was just talking it out."

"Sorry," Farkas grumbled. Edric took his arm and gently tugged him to a stop, and he sighed and began, "Look honey, I know-" Edric leaned up on his tiptoes and kissed him, and Farkas allowed it for a moment then started again, "I'm just-" Edric kissed him again, and he finally had to laugh and let it go. "I see," he said with a sheepish smile. "Getting back at me for the porridge, huh?"

"Maybe." Edric kept his hand on Farkas' arm and said, "The thing with the Khajiit is that they're crazy curious. Pique their curiosity and you've got them hooked. Ri'saad knows what I was about, he's damn crafty, but we both knew it, so we're good. I'll show him the frost giant parts in a couple months and he'll do whatever he has to in order to get his hands on them. They're genuine. You think a troll looks weird? These guys had four eyes."

Farkas made a face. "What's the point of that?" Edric shrugged and made an _I don't know_ sound. The Companion shifted Eivind onto his other side, and his mate stared at them both for a moment then visibly steeled himself and held his hands out. Farkas smiled and handed the toddler over, and Edric awkwardly took Eivind into his arms. The boy was little, maybe twenty-five pounds, thirty at the very most, but it still was a long time to carry even that much weight in one arm. "Do you think maybe if the pup's ma never comes back we should take him to Gerdur and Hod? Maybe he'd be happy there. They have a mill too. It'd be familiar."

Edric nodded slowly then looked at the boy. "Yeah, maybe," he mumbled. His brow furrowed, and he hesitated before reaching up to brush blond hair back from Eivind's forehead. He took in a breath and seemed like he was about to say something, then he closed his mouth again and blinked.

The twinge of wistfulness and sorrow made it clear what his man was thinking about. "Hod?" Farkas guessed. And Ralof too, obviously. The baby was blond and blue-eyed, just like Ralof and Gerdur.

"Aye." Edric's voice lowered. "I...can't talk about it. Not yet. I...I gave him the money for a better headstone. He said he'd see it taken care of. But...but Ray...he did love me. Maybe it's better that I didn't know how much, back...then."

Farkas whined and wrapped his arms around his husband. "Maybe," he whispered, the word catching on the lump in his throat. Gods but the whole thing broke his heart. He couldn't help being wildly curious about what Hod had told Edric, but he would never ask. It had nothing to do with him. It wasn't his to know, unless Edric chose to share it.

"But I'm here now, and...I want to give you everything I couldn't give him. A house and a family. A future."

"We'll give that to each other, someday," Farkas vowed, leaning his cheek against his mate's forehead. "You'll see, sweetheart. It'll all work out."

Edric nodded, and Farkas ignored the tiny pangs of worry from the other man, like little needles in his heart. It was probably hard for Edric to believe he would ever have these things, after all those years of fighting the dragons and a civil war, and with maybe years of more war ahead of him. If only Edric didn't have to go, but how could he not go? He was Dragonborn. They were made to fight. And maybe Tiber Septim had become a god, _maybe_ , but Farkas didn't totally believe that he had been stronger than Edric while he was a living man. Tiber Septim hadn't taken the souls of dozens of dragons, because they hadn't been around then. He couldn't have known all the shouts Edric did, or all the magic.

No, Edric was too strong, too good at what he did, to stay behind, and even if Ulfric would allow it, which he wouldn't, Edric's own ethics wouldn't let him stay home while Skyrim's armies marched. So the Dragonborn would go to war, and he would be gone for maybe years, away from his mate, away from his pack or any other of his kind, something Farkas tried not to think too hard about. Farkas would stay here, separated from his mate, with maybe only Aela left out of the pack, if Vilkas got cured. It was going to be awful for both of them, for probably a long time.

He remembered that time after a confrontation with Vilkas, when his twin had so cruelly brought up Ralof, and Edric had wept over his husband and said _He was a soldier, we both were, what else could I do but let him go?_ Farkas wasn't a soldier, but he had to let Edric go when the time came and believe that he would make it back, and that once he did they could finally live the life they wanted. They could move into Breezehome and stop fighting for a living, adopt a little one, then maybe another later, once they figured out what they were doing. They could live like normal people, well, as normal as two werewolves could be, and grow old together.

He kissed Edric's temple then ruffled Eivind's hair. The toddler was rubbing his eyes and looked like he was getting ready for a good fuss, tired and probably hungry too. The dog was looking impatient, his nose to the air. Farkas could smell the city too, the scent of too many people packed inside the walls, the acrid smell of Adrianne's forge near the gates. It wasn't a great smell, but it was the smell of home. Farkas was sure that he could get set down blindfolded outside any city and know which one it was just by the smell. He would take the scents of Whiterun over the rank stench of Riften's stagnant canals and rotten fish any day, or the faint scent of death that always hung over Falkreath.

"Let's go home, honey," he said. "Maybe Tilma has some ideas for fostering the pup." As long as she wasn't the one doing it. She was getting too old for what she was doing as it was without taking care of kids at her age. Regardless of how he and Vilkas had been raised, Jorrvaskr was no place for a child to grow up. And Edric had been right that the two of them couldn't take care of a kid right now, either.

But someday. Someday it would all work out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually considered writing out a short story about Ralof and Edric's relationship, but every time I start thinking about it I make myself cry, so...no. ;_; I have a lot of writing that will never be posted online, but I can't even bring myself to write about it.


	41. Chapter 41

**Vilkas**

Last one up, again. By Ysmir, he was sick of this bullshit, never getting a solid night's sleep, and it had been worse the last few days, wondering where his twin was, days overdue. He would have worried more if Edric wasn't with Farkas. His brother was admittedly skilled and could take care of himself, but the odds of him coming to serious harm with Edric around were nil. It wasn't as if Vilkas wasn't well aware at this point of the care the Dragonborn had for the other man. The treacherous thought flitted through his mind that maybe Edric had sweet-talked Farkas into simply leaving the Companions. Just walking away. It was not only a treacherous thought but a stupid one. It wasn't like either man to turn his back on his responsibilities, and perhaps the Dragonborn resented it at times but Edric did consider the Companions a responsibility.

Vilkas dragged himself upstairs and heard the sounds of training in the yard-Skjor and Njada-while Aela, Athis and Ria were on a job to clean skooma dealers out of Cragslane Cavern. There were times he thought he might actually get used to having a babysitter, one of the Circle always present to keep him in line, then he would begin ruminating on the matter and the rage would bubble up again. As it was starting to now.

He shoved it down and made his way to the kitchen, hungry, which wasn't helping his mood. He couldn't lose his temper with Tilma. He _wouldn't_. She was possibly the only person in the hall that he couldn't get angry with. The kitchen was a safe space where his troubles were usually far away. Tilma might gently scold him at times, but she had earned the right.

The comforting smell of bread wafted from the kitchen. Perhaps she would let him help her with something, both to ease his boredom and soothe his soul. He heard her voice, speaking in her usual kind tone, and wondered who she could be talking to. Everyone else was out and about, and she wasn't one to talk to herself.

"There you go, dear. That one's just the right size. You'll get the hang of this yet."

Vilkas entered the kitchen and came to an abrupt stop. Child. There was a child here. In Jorrvaskr. A girl child.

Tilma looked up at him and smiled. "About time you dragged your lazy bones out of bed," she chided with affection. She was dusted with flour, as was the girl. "This is Lucia. She's going to be staying with us." She beamed at the girl. "With me." She looked to Vilkas again, who had narrowed his eyes in confusion. "I've already cleared it with the Harbinger. She'll be sleeping up here in my room, by the kitchen. Everyone keeps saying that I could use an extra pair of hands, and what clever hands she has! Look at the rolls she made, and on her first try too."

He blinked and forced his gaze towards the baking stone. "Yes, eh…" Tilma gave him a faint nod, prompting, and he cleared his throat. "They are… well-shaped." By the Nine, he was still half-asleep if such asinine things were coming out of his mouth, but Tilma seemed pleased and the girl clutched her lump of dough and nearly vibrated with delight, her dark eyes glowing. She wasn't a tiny girl, maybe eleven or twelve, Imperial by the looks of her, Nibenese perhaps, with tan skin and sandy hair, thin, her knuckles standing out from bony fingers. Her dress was dirty, tattered along the hem, and boots wrapped with rags.

Lucia said in an ardent tone, "I'll learn to do them even better, sir. I promise I'll be a good helper. The best!"

"Er...yes," Vilkas mumbled. Gods help him, he was confused. Was the girl an orphan? Tilma began assembling a breakfast roll for him, and he stayed silent, studying the girl, who had gone back to shaping dough, her expression intent as if she was hell-bent on making the best damn rolls anyone had ever seen. Her hands looked clean at least. He thought she looked vaguely familiar, as if he had seen her about town, but surely people would know if there was an orphan on the streets? When Lucia glanced at him he asked, "Where did you come from, lass?" Her expression fell.

Tilma scolded, "Not now, Vilkas. We'll get it all straightened out. Getting her a warm, dry place to sleep and food in her belly was all that was important."

"Aye."

She handed him his breakfast. "Good boy. Now go find Skjor. He wanted to talk to you about something."

He nodded and did as he was told, not missing the lift of her eyebrow. So the Harbinger would tell him what was going on. He wanted _someone_ to.

He found the older man and the shield-maiden sparring outside. Njada was becoming quite skilled, he had to hand her that. Maybe she never found an opening to hit Skjor, but he was rarely able to get a strike in on her either, her shield work almost flawless.

The Harbinger saw him and held up his hand to the young woman, who nodded and slid the shield off her arm, looking glad for the break. Vilkas met him halfway and said in irritation, "There is a _child_ here." Granted, he had once been a child here, as had his twin, but that was different. Entirely different.

"There is," Skjor agreed. "Tilma and I talked it over and I agreed with her decision. She needs the help, and the girl needs a roof over her head, especially with winter just around the corner."

"So she's an orphan, then." Just as he had thought.

"Aye, and you and I are heading out to knock a couple heads together when your brother and Edric get back." He nodded his head towards the north. "Girl's mother owned a farm up the road, the Loreius farm." Vilkas nodded and made a sound of recognition. "She got sick, girl doesn't know what, and asked her brother and his wife down from Solitude to help her run it. She never recovered and passed on. The uncle kept the girl on for a while then must've decided he didn't want to be responsible for her any longer. Brought her here with them during Kodlak's funeral and ditched her during all the commotion. Brenuin found her crying and looked after her, best he could."

Vilkas wrinkled his nose. "The town drunk? He can't even care for himself!"

"I said 'best he could'. I didn't say _well_."

"And no one noticed this? No one bothered reporting it to anyone?" It was appalling. A child begging on the streets would have been noticed, and said child taken in or at least given over to the orphanage in Riften. There at least she would have food and shelter. Vilkas considered Balgruuf the better Jarl, but Vignar would never leave a child on the streets either, Imperial or not.

"Carlotta told the guards, after her daughter mentioned playing with the girl and feeling sorry for her. Tilma was there doing her shopping and overheard, said she would take her in. Carlotta's a single mother with enough on her plate as it is or she would have taken her." The Harbinger huffed and folded his arms. "The farm is inside the boundaries of The Pale, so Vignar has no jurisdiction, and he's not currently on speaking terms with Skald, for obvious reasons. He doesn't want Skald involved."

Vilkas grunted and took a bite of his roll to avoid having to talk about the unfortunate matter of Torvar. He had played too much of a part in that mess to have the right to say a thing. He thought Skald didn't have a leg to stand on, seeing as how it was his son who had nearly caused the death of the Dragonborn, and by treachery at that, but Vilkas could understand there being some resentment towards Vignar, who had demanded the life of Skald's youngest. Or rather had demanded it on Edric's behalf, because it was a given that the Dragonborn was the one who had insisted on having it.

Skjor continued, "So you and I are going to pay them a visit. By law the farm belongs to the girl, unless the mother signed it over to her brother. Either way, Uncle Vantus is going to pay up. If the farm really does belong to him, he's going to cough up an inheritance for the girl or it's coming out of his hide. Even if she's staying here, she has a right to something."

He pursed his lips and muttered, "You're certain that is a good idea, her staying." One more person to watch himself around. One more person at risk of finding out the Circle's secret.

The Harbinger lowered his voice and stated, "In case you hadn't noticed, Tilma is seventy-two. She's worked her fingers to the bone for over half a century for the Companions."

It was easy to forget just how old his foster mother really was. "I realize that, but...a _child…_ "

"She would be working the farm with her family otherwise. You and Farkas were out in the training yard every day at the same age. She's in here out of the weather, inside city walls, and all she's expected to do is help with the cooking and cleaning, nothing strenuous. She can get an education and go play with Carlotta's daughter in her free time. I see no downside to any of this."

"Yes, but…" He bit his lip and looked towards the Underforge, cognizant of Njada nearby drinking a bottle of ale.

"But what? We have other people in this hall. We have for centuries. Tilma will keep an eye on her. We've wanted her to get some help for years and she wouldn't hear of it. This way saves her dignity and gets a kid in out of the cold."

Vilkas grumbled and nodded, giving in. He couldn't argue with any of that. "Just as long as the girl isn't funneling coin to the drunk."

"Whatever we can beat out of her uncle is going to be held in trust for her, and even if he's a drunk and a beggar, Brenuin isn't a thief. I can overlook her taking him food once in a while."

"So be it." It wasn't as if he had any real objection to the girl, Lucia, being around. Tilma did need the help, and she deserved to be able to lighten her duties so late in life. The girl needed shelter, and Jorrvaskr was better than Honorhall, which was probably still crowded with the war orphans that the Dragonborn had helped create. The thought of Edric was more than enough to bring anger bubbling back to the surface, and he growled, "And just where is my brother, anyway? He was due back at the latest two days ago."

Skjor shrugged. "Delayed. It happens."

"It shouldn't happen with the illustrious hero at his side."

The older man lifted an eyebrow and said in a dry tone, "The illustrious hero might be the delay."

Vilkas sneered and made a sound of derision then turned on his heel and went back inside. The last thing he wanted to think about was the two men being so irresponsible as to be holed up somewhere, shirking their duties and doing each other instead of their job. Surely they wouldn't be so selfish as to do that.

No, there must have been something that came up, either an unforeseen complication in one of their jobs or some needy soul begging the great Dragonborn for help, which of course he would give for free, robbing the Companions of much-needed coin. It was impossible to say what was taking so long, and so he would wait, trapped here like a grounded child. Oh, he could leave Jorrvaskr if he really wanted to, take one of the contracts and try to deal with it, but he would be doing it alone, since none of the whelps would want to to go with him, and doing it alone would be a ticket to the Hunting Grounds for sure. There was no way he would be so lucky as to make it back alive a second time. He wasn't the Dragonborn, after all.

The day dragged on, and Vilkas filled his time with going over the books, not that they required it, and training on his own, practicing his archery since he had been neglecting it as of late, something Aela never hesitated to remind him of.

It was just before dinner that he heard a small commotion upstairs, and he left his room and wandered up to the mead hall to see the wayward pair had finally arrived, and with Farkas in one piece, thank the Divines. Tilma was fussing over them, while Lucia hung back in the doorway to the kitchen, still shy of everyone, watching Edric with wide eyes, a cleaning cloth clutched in both hands. Skjor was there, while Njada was at the table drinking and shaking her head at the two men.

Vilkas saw the reason for that when Skjor moved enough to expose the bundle in Edric's arms. He had, Mara help them all, a child asleep on his shoulder. _Another_ child in Jorrvaskr. This one was small, a toddler, covered in a blanket, only tufts of blond hair sticking out. Farkas was hovering over his lover and the child, a sappy expression on his face. So they had gone and procured themselves a child. Made themselves a little family. How nice for them. Vilkas' hopes for the future lay smashed in the dust, while Edric arranged everything to his liking. He had admitted as much, that he planned things out. Surely he had planned this as well, the last move in a string of plot points, all designed to gain himself a mate who worshipped the ground he walked on, like a well-behaved…

Dog. There was a _fucking dog_ with them as well.

He growled furiously and strode towards them. Edric caught his eye and nodded with a calm expression and carefully handed the baby over to Tilma, who took the child with delight. Of course no one else saw Vilkas coming, or cared, including his own twin, the person he had shared a womb with, shared a life with until the usurper had come along.

Edric stepped away from the group, and Vilkas had but a moment to register the alarm on Farkas' face before the Dragonborn was right in front of him, right hand lit up in green magic.

"How do you want to do this, Vilkas?" he murmured. "Should I paralyze you and drag you down the stairs like a sack of potatoes, or should I shout you into compliance and order you to your room?"

"Get the fuck out of my way, bastard," he snarled.

"No. Make a choice."

"I have the right to talk to my brother!"

"That isn't what you were going to do and we both know it."

"Out of my way!"

Edric lifted his hand and counted, "One...two…"

Vilkas turned away, but he'd be damned to Oblivion before he was sent to his room like a recalcitrant child. He instead stormed towards the back door and outside to the porch, and he paced there for a moment before shouting in fury and heading for a training dummy to take out his frustrations on it. That quickly stopped being satisfying and he grabbed his training sword and went at it. Edric. Always Edric. Everything had gone wrong from the day he showed his face in Jorrvaskr a year ago, and had gone even more wrong since the night he had rescued Farkas. Vilkas could never be sorry for that, but everything other than that was tainted by the Dragonborn's filthy touch. Everything.

The back doors opened, after he had spent a good five minutes hacking apart the training dummy, his anger and adrenaline draining the energy from him. By the Nine he hated Edric. _Hated_ him.

"The kid isn't staying, asshole." Vilkas' eyes widened and he made a sputtering, growling sound and spun around, the training sword in his hand. Edric pointed at it and warned, "You come towards me with that and I am going to lock you in that cage in the Underforge, yank the ring off and force you to change."

"You have _no right!_ " Vilkas bellowed.

"To control you? So who does? Because if I don't, I'm not sure who does. I am _not_ allowing you to cause a scene in the hall, and especially not over some petty shit like a kid and a dog."

"It isn't about the child or the dog! It is about you taking over the Companions and disrupting our way of life!"

Edric stared at him with a blank expression for a long moment. "When exactly did I take over the Companions?"

"You do whatever the fuck you want with no regard for our traditions!"

"Traditions. Ah, yes, the way your father had no regard for them when he brought you and Farkas here. The way _you_ had no regard for them for the day I officially joined. The old man was terribly disappointed in you, you know." He clucked his tongue. "Sad, that you took what should have been such a happy moment for him and pissed all over it. How many times have you done that to someone? How will you ever live with yourself and the things you've done, once you're cured? Shame that I won't be around to watch what I'm certain will be an epic struggle with self-loathing and regret." He shook his head and tutted. "Would have been so entertaining, too. Ah, well."

Vilkas' fury ebbed away like the tide, the Dragonborn's eerie tone of voice and intent, disturbing gaze sending chills down the Companion's spine.

"Better," Edric said with a nod, folding his arms. "So, here we go. Try to keep up. The boy's mother was a vampire. We had to kill the father, also a vampire. Farkas and I took the child to keep him safe, until the mother gets cured. Yes, there is a cure for vampirism, and I gave her Torvar's soul for it. The boy is getting fostered with a family in town, Tilma thinks the War-Bears will do, since they have a little one of their own close in age. Farkas and I are _not_ taking in a kid, even though we do have a home now. I bought Breezehome, did you know that? No, I didn't think so. I put Farkas' name on the deed too, just in case, though he doesn't know that yet, so keep it to yourself. The dog's staying here though, so you're going to have to cope with that. Meeko likes it here, I can tell. Lots of interesting smells. Tilma and Skjor don't mind. And that's that."

The Dragonborn turned around and went back inside Jorrvaskr, and Vilkas stood unmoving, mind whirling with confusion as he processed the stream of words that had just spewed out of Edric's mouth.

In the end he had to give up, and he went with stilted motions towards the weapons rack to replace his training sword. His hands stayed there as he gazed at the rock wall in front of him. He was still there when the door opened again, some time later, he wasn't sure how long. He knew his brother's heavy tread. He would know it anywhere.

Farkas asked, "You uh, okay?"

"Of course not," he mumbled.

"Did he...did he have to… I told him not to come out here and leave you alone. I mean, I told him to leave you alone and not come out here."

"He didn't do anything to me. Just...words." He heard Farkas' exhale of relief. He was certain that he would get angry again, but the emotions wouldn't come. Too many words out of the Dragonborn's mouth. Nonsensical words. And that spooky look in his silver eyes, as if they could see into Vilkas' very soul. _Monster_. By Akatosh, the man was a monster.

"We're not keeping the baby," Farkas assured him. "Tilma and Edie are taking the pup down to Ulfberth and Adrianne. Their daughter is just a year older. He said he told you about the ma. If everything works out she'll be back in a week or so. Maybe less, I don't know."

"Is that what took you so long?" His twin didn't answer, and he let go of the weapons rack to turn and look at his brother. Farkas frowned but didn't look away, as he ordinarily would have if he was hiding something, but his cheeks were tinged with pink, as if he were embarrassed. "You're three days overdue." He was still wearing his armor, though Vilkas supposed he wouldn't have had time to change out of it yet. The armor looked to be in good shape too, mostly undamaged.

Farkas' frown deepened as he stated, "A lotta weird shit happened, and I don't feel like talking about it."

Vilkas scoffed. "With me, you mean. You don't feel like discussing it with me, is that it?"

"Yeah, it is," he admitted, his tone sad but firm. "I don't trust you."

Vilkas' mouth fell open as his heart clenched in his chest. Farkas didn't look away. He had always looked away when they were disagreeing, unless he was angry, but he wasn't angry now. Resigned, perhaps. There was something different about his manner, something subtle, but it was there.

His twin grumbled and said, "I know you can't help it at times. Like a little bit ago. But it doesn't change anything, and Edie...he's gonna do what he's gonna do. To keep the peace. And he did. It worked. Maybe what he does isn't comfortable for everybody, but it works."

"He's a monster."

Farkas scowled. "We all are. Monsters, I mean."

"Monstrous, then. The Dragonborn is borderline evil, Farkas. Your precious little darling-"

"He's my _husband_ ," Farkas growled, his patience at an end, "We're moon-wed. He isn't my boyfriend or my lover or some fucking pet, Vilkas. I'm his husband and he's mine and you'd better respect that. You can feel however you want about him, but maybe you just ought to keep it to yourself."

His twin stormed off, fists clenched, and Vilkas stared after him, stricken. _Moon-wed_. Farkas and Edric had pair-bonded while they were away. That was why they were late coming back. That was the difference in Farkas.

Well, he had known it was happening, hadn't he? And once the process started there wasn't any way of going back, not that he knew of, and once it was done, it was done. Over. Permanent. Unchangeable. Unbreakable, by anything other than death, and perhaps the cure, and there was no way Farkas would ever take the cure now. Not if it meant fracturing the bond with his little…

Husband.

They were moon-wed and Edric was Farkas' husband. Farkas was for all intents and purposes married. Edric was Vilkas' brother now, in any way that mattered.

Vilkas let out a shaky breath and rubbed his face. He had to stop. This _had_ to stop.

Farkas and Edric were mated. Bonded. Inseparable. Husbands. Anything Vilkas might have said before this had been in an effort to make Farkas see what he was getting into. What kind of creature he was tying his future to. But it was too late now. The bond was there and finished, and anything Vilkas said about Edric at this point would only alienate his brother further. It wasn't as if Farkas could leave Edric at this point. He couldn't even consider it. The bond wouldn't allow it.

He grumbled and headed inside, where he saw Njada by the fire pit with Lucia, speaking to the girl in a surprisingly gentle manner. Skjor was nowhere to be found, but that suited Vilkas just fine. The dog was flopped out on its side by the fire, as if it had lived here all its life. Just like Edric, waltzing into a place and acting as if he owned it.

Downstairs, he went straight to his brother's room, only able to do so because Edric was away, and found the door open and Farkas taking off his armor. His twin's lips pursed and nose wrinkled, but before Farkas could bark at him Vilkas lowered his gaze and muttered, "I apologize." Farkas didn't answer, and the silence unfurled a flutter of fear in his gut. "I… You were right. I can't help how I feel about him, but it doesn't need to be said." Farkas sighed, and he went on, "And I know...I know I will say things I should not. I can't always stop the words from coming out. Just the sight of him...all I could see just now was how he keeps-" He saw Farkas tensing up and he stopped himself. At least he could, for now. He motioned to his brother's armor, the gesture hesitant. Perhaps he was groveling a bit, but Farkas had never seemed more distant from him than he was now. It was terrifying.

His twin grunted and gave him a little nod, and he helped with the shoulder buckles of the cuirass. _Keep the conversation safe. Stay on solid ground._

"Ehh...the boy's mother," he began. "She can be cured?"

"Yeah. Edie said so." Farkas' voice hardened. "So it's true."

"I've never said he was a liar." Or at least he didn't think he had.

"You're always acting like he has some...some evil purpose behind everything he does, and it isn't true." Vilkas' mouth twisted as his fingers paused on the buckles, and Farkas growled, "How could you ever think he's evil with all the things he's done for people?"

He admitted in a mumble, "I know he is not evil." Edric could be impatient, and cruel, but there had to be some impetus behind the cruelty, even if at times it seemed it didn't take much. He knew the Dragonborn wasn't evil in the pure sense of the word, though how someone with the blood and soul of a dragon wasn't as inherently evil as one of the beasts was a mystery. No, of course Edric wasn't evil, but he wasn't what Vilkas considered a good man either. He acted in an honorable, mostly ethical manner, but to Vilkas' eye it seemed a measured thing. But then was there any real difference between doing good works because you knew they had to be done and doing them because you were a genuinely kind and noble person? Either way the end result was the same.

Gods, but it was too early in the day for philosophy, and it had never been a discipline that he'd had any patience for.

"I wanted to kill that kid's ma," Farkas stated in an insistent tone. "I saw a vampire and all I cared about was a thing that had to be killed, even with her crying and her kid right there. I got mad at Edie for talking to her. He didn't have to save her life and he still tried to, when I didn't think he should. He gave her money to help her come get her kid after. He wore himself out trying to get the dog away from his dead master and make it come with us. All those years we were light on jobs were because he was helping people. For _free_. He only ever took pay from Jarls."

Vilkas' fingers stilled again on the buckles. "I know this."

"Then just…" He made a sound of frustration. "Just fucking stop it already!"

"I can't," Vilkas whispered. "If I could I would, but I can't. You know I can't."

"Then start hunting again and fix the problem."

"No."

"Then you can stop and you're choosing not to, just like Edie said."

"I promised-"

Farkas barked, "Kodlak never wanted this!" He shrugged off Vilkas' hand and stepped away from him. "You're choosing this! Fuck Vilkas, the _minute_ we walked through the door you were at it, and you were fine while we were gone, I know you were!"

Vilkas said through clenched teeth, "Fine is not a word I would use." He put his hands up. "I came down to apologize, and I did so. I came down here to...to…" To simply be around his twin brother, who had always been his other half, and was becoming more a stranger with every passing week. And he knew it was mostly his fault, it wasn't as if he was completely self-delusional and didn't know that. He had come down here because he missed Farkas with an almost physical pain. But Farkas was angry, and when Farkas got angry it rarely subsided with any swiftness, and that anger was tied up in Vilkas' behavior towards his...ugh, _mate_. They weren't animals, damn it!

"Yeah, sorries get old after a while." Farkas ran his hand back through his lank hair, his expression dark. "You're choosing this," he repeated. "This isn't about Kodlak and your promises. This is about you not wanting to give in. It's about you wanting to be in control. It's always been like this, ever since we were pups. It's like Edie's taken Pa's place in your head and you're gonna fuck over me and everyone else around you before you give in." Vilkas sucked in a breath, staring at his brother in disbelief. "But Edie isn't Pa, and maybe before this trip I was scared of what he might do. I was scared for you. But now I'm not."

"Wha...what is that supposed to mean?" he breathed in dismay. "You don't care anymore if he kills me, is that it?" How in Oblivion had it come to this, that his own brother-

"That's not what I mean and you know it," Farkas retorted. He shook his head and began angrily fumbling with the straps of his armor. "I can't believe you'd even fucking say that." He struggled with a buckle then huffed and gave up, fixing his twin with a glare. "Edie knows that I'd never want him to kill you, and he wouldn't have to. That's what I meant. I trust him to do what he has to." He shook his head again, slowly this time, a look of warning on his face. "You should be more scared of him than you are, Vilkas."

It wasn't the first time someone had warned him of that, but he sneered at the thought just as much this time as he had before. "Why should I be, when you just said he isn't going to kill me, as he has threatened to do more than once?"

"There's worse things than dying."

_I'll destroy you, but I won't kill you. You'll just wish I had_.

Vilkas shivered as the Dragonborn's threat came back to him. Edric had made that promise back before he had made up his mind about letting Farkas court him, and even so he had been furious then over the other man. Protective of him. It could only be worse now, and that same instinct was no doubt the force behind Farkas' temper tonight, when usually the big oaf was slow to anger. It was horrifying to realize, that the bond could change someone like that. The change wasn't extreme, but it was noticeable, and all because of some base, animal urge borne of a bond that the two had sought with a purpose. The symbol of it was there on their wall, the deer skull from Edric's first hunt as a werewolf, hanging over the bed as if Hircine himself was witnessing and blessing their union.

It was _revolting_. Revolting that the Dragonborn with all his accomplishments and power had deliberately pursued the beastblood and the pair bond, and that Farkas had embraced his beast in such a way. And yet he had, they both had, and there was nothing to be done about it, and trying to do so would only make Vilkas' brother hate him. He knew as of today that it was a very real possibility.

His twin continued, a note of despair in his voice. "I just wanted to come home," Farkas stated, looking crestfallen. "It was a long trip and all I wanted to do was be home where my family is, and I knew, I just _knew_ you were gonna cause problems when we got back, but not that soon."

"I'm sorry," he quavered. Gods, he was sorry. He always was.

Farkas closed his eyes. "Yeah, I know." He opened them and sighed. "You should go before Edie gets back."

Vilkas moved towards him again, motioning to the buckles, a pleading look on his face, desperate to stay connected somehow. To not be set aside. His twin was slipping away from him, he knew that, but if he could just keep some kind of _something_ good between them, just until Edric was gone… Farkas would have to turn back to him then. Just another four or five months at most.

His brother grumbled and gave in, and Vilkas silently helped him with the straps of his armor. He didn't ask anything else about the trip, though he was burning with curiosity about the vampires. He didn't open his mouth at all, even if it was torture to practice that level of self-restraint. Farkas didn't say anything either, though a few times he met Vilkas' eyes and seemed on the verge of speaking then thought better of it. Better if neither of them spoke at all.

They got the armor stripped off and Vilkas kept his resentment at bay, at least enough to avoid losing his temper again or opening his big mouth. He had to do this, for just a little bit longer, then things would be better. Edric would no longer be around to disrupt everything, and Farkas would have to rely on Vilkas then. And when Edric died, as he would have to, Vilkas would be there to help Farkas through it. Then they could both be cured. Both. Let Farkas and Edric play at being 'husbands' for a few months, it didn't matter. Once Edric was gone and dead, Farkas would start seeing reason again.

"What are you thinking about?"

Vilkas blinked and gave himself a little shake, focusing his gaze again, only to see Farkas scowling at him with suspicion as he undid the buttons of his arming doublet. Vilkas set down the plate of armor that he apparently had been gripping in both hands, rubbing his thumbs across it while obsessing over the future and staring at the deer skull on the wall. Gods knew what sort of expression he'd had on his face. His gut turned, sour and uneasy. Farkas wouldn't be all right if he lost Edric. His brother wouldn't be all right at all, how could he think that?

He began, "I...I was…" What could he possibly say without making a liar of himself?

The door from upstairs opened and male voices came down the hall, along with the clank of heavy armor. Skjor and Edric. The Companions didn't wear the wolf armor without a purpose, so it was Edric making noise, more than he usually did, for Vilkas' benefit no doubt.

He nodded to his brother and left, hearing an irritated rumble behind him as he went. He knew better than to stay. It was Edric's room as much as it was Farkas', and the Dragonborn wouldn't look kindly on the presence of someone he detested in his territory. His den.

He didn't spare the younger man a glance as he went across to his own room. It was clean, orderly, though there were a few contracts there that needed attention, and how was he supposed to get them done when the whelps began tensing up the moment he turned his eyes on them? How was he supposed to get _anything_ done? He couldn't go out alone or he might very well end up dead and trapped in Hircine's realm for eternity, and none of the junior Companions wanted to train with him let alone go out on the road with him, and yet it was a waste of resources for two members of the Circle to do a run-of-the-mill job together. This was impossible.

The sound of his brother's voice being raised in the hall brought him out of his morose woolgathering, and he poked his head out of the doorway to see Skjor heading for his quarters while Farkas was standing over Edric, the Dragonborn's gloved hand in both of his, held against his bare chest. Farkas had only a pair of pants on, perhaps getting ready to bathe, while Edric was still in his armor. The big lug was pouting, of all things, face crumpled in an expression of dismay. The wolfhound was sitting at their feet, looking up at the two men with worry in its soulful eyes.

"But we just got home," Farkas pleaded. "You haven't even eaten dinner yet!"

"I know, love," Edric murmured, "but it's urgent, and Skjor was going to take me out anyway. We'll eat before we leave." He let go of Farkas' hand to take the bigger man's face in both of his. "We'll be back in five, six days at the most. Don't fret, _miingi_."

"I'm fretting."

Edric clucked his tongue and pulled him down for a kiss then gave Farkas' head a gentle shake. "I'm pretty much healed, just a little tight. Not tired either. Everything's fine. Could've used a bath, but..." He gave Farkas another kiss then let go. "Promise you'll give Meeko one tonight?"

"Yeah, okay," Farkas grumbled.

"Come help me swap out my stuff while Skjor gears up."

"Okay."

Edric sighed heavily. "I'm going to smell like a troll when I get back," he complained.

"I like how you smell."

Vilkas gagged while Edric laughed as the two men went to their quarters, the dog trotting after them. Disgusting. No better than animals, and with a dirty, unwashed hound on their heels at that. If nothing else, he supposed that taking the beastblood had assuaged the Dragonborn's compulsive fussiness.

He left his quarters to go speak to Skjor, and when he reached the hall he pulled his sleeve down to cover his nose as the dog's reek assaulted him. Unacceptable. He considered lodging a complaint with the Harbinger, but it would be a waste of time, he knew that. He wasted enough energy as it was fighting many other things and realized after the fact that it had been pointless, but he knew this up front. The dog was the Dragonborn's pet, and Farkas' too it seemed. The child they had taken from the vampire hadn't stayed, so he would take comfort in that much.

The Harbinger was putting on his armor, and he glanced at Vilkas and gave him a curt nod. "Good, I could use a hand with this," Skjor suggested, and the younger man moved to do so. "Don't like heading out this late, or with a shield-brother who's been on the road, but this is urgent. Got the contract not ten minutes ago from a courier."

Vilkas muttered, "I heard Edric say he was injured. Do you think it wise to take him?" Skjor looked troubled, and he added, "So you didn't know."

"No, but I asked if he was good to go and he said yes." He took a thigh plate from Vilkas. "I know they just got home less than an hour ago, but he's up for it. Maybe also feels a little responsible, who knows." He strapped on the cuisse and went on, "On their way back, they passed through Rorikstead again. The innkeeper's son was pestering them about wanting to be an adventurer. Edric told him to be glad for what he had and to stop worrying his pa. Guess the lad didn't listen. Broke into his pa's chest and took his old gear."

Vilkas slowly shook his head. Skyrim was littered with the bones of fools who thought one could simply pick up a sword and strap on some iron armor and go off 'adventuring', whatever that meant. "So you two are going to try to track down some young idiot who left home?" Mralki's son Erik never hesitated to latch onto any Companion that passed through the town, peppering them with questions and vowing that he was going to see the world like his mother. Well his mother was dead, and he was better off at home, helping his father and the local farmers. There was no shame in working the soil, even if it wouldn't get you into Sovngarde. Someone had to do it or people would starve. At least Edric had had the wisdom to dissuade the young man from his foolhardy dreams. And the redhead _was_ a man, in his early twenties. It wasn't as if this was a child who had run away from home or had been kidnapped.

"Shouldn't be too hard," Skjor said with a shrug. "The local guards said Erik was asking about Forsworn in the western hills. Thought we'd check a few spots. Serpent's Bluff, Bleakwind Bluff. Rorik doesn't have enough men to send out more than sporadic patrols and asked for our help, since Mralki is an old friend of his and his man's. You ask me, the lad's dead."

"Most likely," Vilkas agreed. The Reacher barbarians were nothing to trifle with, a challenge for even the Companions. Forsworn used magic, and often had their bird-witches with them, and hagravens could wipe out a small party with fireballs if you didn't get in and take them down fast enough. Still, nothing the big hero couldn't handle, considering he was much more of a mage than he liked to let on. Vilkas was certain of that.

"Still, doesn't hurt to look, and while it may not be the way we usually do things, Edric has a spell that can locate things. People."

Vilkas muttered, "Of course he does."

"We have a big contract heading out that direction anyway. Soljund mines."

Vilkas grunted in surprise. "I thought they had written those off."

"The Jarl wants them opened up again and the draugr cleared out. He sent the pay in advance. Very generous pay. Also added a rather snide little note about how he would've preferred to have his thane handle it and can't seem to find him, but Edric doesn't need to know that until we're on our way. Jarl Thongvor sent the full amount of pay even knowing the Dragonborn is here, and this job is going to take two of the Circle. Was going to take him out anyway, so this works."

"Aye." He couldn't argue with any of that reasoning, and while it was a bit galling that he hadn't been asked to help, considering he needed the work, he understood why. He was in no hurry to go down into a draugr crypt, either. The mines had been closed up for nearly four years now, and it wasn't an ordinary iron mine. It produced moonstone, had in fact been the highest-producing moonstone mine in northern Tamriel until the miners had dug a little too deep. It had also been unusual for being one of the few of the Reach's mines that were still owned by Reachmen. Vilkas had to wonder if that was still the case, and if that was why it had taken the Jarl so long to ask the Companions for help clearing it out. He could very well see the Silver-Bloods waiting for the desperate Reachers to be driven to sell and then hiring the Companions to help out the new, Nord owners.

"The day after I get back, the four of us are heading out. Lost Knife Hideout. Our sister has a lead on a Silver Hand lieutenant there. Might have information on who their leader is and where we can find them. Aela's due back any day now. Once she gets here, I'd like you and Farkas to take care of Loreius."

"Aye."

Skjor put his hand on Vilkas' shoulder, lowering his voice. "I want Farkas to do the roughing up, not you." The younger man's jaw clenched as he glared at his forebear. "I mean it, Vilkas," he murmured in warning. "You're not lifting even one finger against a civilian. It's been a long time since the Companions have had to bail out you or your brother for getting into fights. I'm not eager to pay the fine and blood price for a murder."

Vilkas stared into the single silver eye, and when that eye narrowed and Skjor's hand tightened painfully on him he whispered, "All right, all right." It was hard to be offended, considering the last six months. He could very well see himself getting carried away. He could see it all too easily.

Skjor let go. "Get whatever you can out of him without leaving him destitute. The tax collectors have come and gone for the year and his crops are mostly in. He can part with a couple hundred septims at least." Vilkas grunted in agreement.

They were silent for several more minutes as Vilkas helped the Harbinger into his armor. It could be done on one's own, but it went much faster with assistance, and with Mralki's son in trouble every moment counted. Vilkas was certain however that the young man was dead. The Forsworn rarely took captives, and when they did it was to hold them in preparation for one of their vile, bloody rituals. Frankly it was no great loss. If the fool was too stupid to listen to sage advice, the Dragonborn's advice at that, then good riddance.

Fully armored, Skjor grabbed a pack and began sorting the usual supplies into it. "You might want to spend some time with your brother while we're gone," the older man suggested. "Talking. About what's between him and Edric now."

Vilkas sputtered. "I will thank you to not get involved." His one attempt at spending time with Farkas a few minutes ago had nearly ended in disaster.

"I'm involved. The whole Circle is. If I were you, I'd talk to Aela too while you're at it."

"I don't want to know."

"You should, if you value what's left of your relationship with your twin." Vilkas huffed and folded his arms, and the Harbinger warned, "You're going to damage things beyond repair if you keep it up. Things are different now. He's not going to tolerate any bullshit regarding Edric from here on out. You could always fix things before when he got pissed off at you. Don't assume that's going to last forever."

He muttered, "I know that. I've seen it already. The change in him."

"It's what happens with our kind. I still wish it could've been avoided, but Farkas was dead set from the start, and sad as it is, I think he was the only thing that made Edric want to keep going. They're a bonded pair now. It's permanent, and like it or not it's always going to take precedence over everything else. It's not the Circle's way, but it should be honored. Mated pairs are at the heart of any pack, and that's still what the Circle is."

"Pair-bonds are supposed to be between a male and female," Vilkas said in disapproval. "What is the point of it if no children can come of it?"

Skjor stared at him as if he was brain-damaged, then he drawled, "Gee, I don't know, Vilkas. The same point as there is to any other marriage, maybe? Love? Companionship? Something?" He rolled his eye and grabbed a cloak. "Go talk to the priests of Mara if you still can't figure it out."

He spat, "Why bother when I will never marry?"

"Come off it," the Harbinger said in irritation as he put his pack on his shoulder. "You damn well could marry if you pulled your head out of your ass. I don't give a shit what plans _you_ made for you and Farkas. He went his own way. Try being your own goddamn man for once."

Vilkas growled and stalked off. His own man. He had _always_ been his own man. It was Farkas who was…

Supposed to follow. Farkas was supposed to be the one who followed Vilkas' lead. Let Vilkas make choices for him.

Asshole. Gods, he was an asshole. It was a wonder Farkas wanted anything at all to do with him. For now, that was. Too much longer and he might not at all.

He retreated to his room and shut the door, staying out of the way while the Harbinger and the Dragonborn readied themselves to leave Jorrvaskr. It seemed that even Edric should have wanted to spend the night before heading out again, but perhaps he was used to constantly being on the move. What was the longest that Edric had ever spent in one place? Maybe, no, certainly, this was it.

Within twenty minutes the hall went quiet with the distant sound of the closing of the front doors upstairs. Vilkas could smell dinner, the scent finally wafting down through the floorboards, and he roused himself and made his way up, figuring it was safe.

He found his brother sitting at the end of the table that had been reserved for Edric, free of alcohol. The big oaf's shoulders were hunched and he practically radiated loneliness. Pathetic, when his man had been gone only a few minutes. How could Farkas have willingly subjected himself to this? How was he supposed to function when Edric went to war if he couldn't handle separation?

Vilkas wavered, debating whether he should sit by his twin. He wanted to, but he feared his inability to keep his trap shut. Njada was at the other end of the table, booted feet up on it and helmet off as she drank a mug of something and frowned at Farkas. The hound was flopped out before the fire, again, still filling the hall with its reek.

He heard a heavy sigh and then his twin began poking at his plate, and Vilkas forced himself to move. He would have to watch his mouth, rigorously, that was all. Just keep it shut. It shouldn't be so hard. It shouldn't. He took a plate from the stack, next to the food that was spread out at the center of the table, and piled on slices of venison and chunks of roasted red-skinned potatoes and carrots and two rolls. The food would get more conservative from here on out, as they moved into winter, the game growing lean and fresh produce more scarce, but no one went hungry here. While the folk of Whiterun never starved, the Companions always ate especially well, and the fire pit never went cold.

As he loaded his plate he saw Tilma usher the orphaned girl out of the kitchen with gentle shooing motions, and he moved out of the way to take a seat next to his brother. Tilma handed Lucia a plate and the girl took a few things with tentative motions, her thin hands trembling with nerves, eyes darting to take in the three Companions at the table. Njada gave the girl a nod and motioned to the food, something approximating a smile touching the usually harsh woman's face. He knew nothing of Njada's past, and doubted anyone else did either, but Vilkas couldn't help but wonder if the shield-maiden sympathized due to her own circumstances, once upon a time. She was the right age to be an orphan of the Great War, as so many were, including Farkas and Vilkas.

_You always had a roof over your head and enough to eat. You always had stability and security._

_Shut up_ , he muttered at the Dragonborn's voice in his head. He didn't need to contend with any mental images of an underfed, vagrant child Edric right now. Or ever.

"Skjor said you and me need to take care of things when Aela gets back," Farkas mumbled. "You do the talking, I'll do the rest."

"Aye," Vilkas agreed, the topic obvious.

His brother fidgeted, his fingers rubbing the handle of the fork, then he ventured, "Edie was pissed."

"Rightly so," Vilkas admitted. "Turning out one's kin, and into the cold at that… We will set things to rights, brother, have no doubt about it."

"Yeah." The relief there was palpable, and when Farkas leaned his way the slightest bit Vilkas leaned back, their shoulders touching. Farkas patted his arm and got up. "Want something to drink?" Vilkas nodded, and his twin fetched two bottles of mead from Njada's end of the table then returned. He handed one over then uncorked his own, and after he took a deep drink he sighed in pleasure and leaned back in his seat. "Almost forgot what it tastes like."

Vilkas frowned and shook his head in confusion. "How so?"

"Oh. I uh...I don't drink around Edie. Or when I think he's going to be around. Don't wanna make things harder on him."

The sentiment was sappy, and ridiculous. The Dragonborn couldn't even handle anyone drinking near him? Pathetic. Weak. He pulled his own cork and forced his clamped lips open enough to drink. He supposed his own problem with the beastblood wasn't...terribly different, sometimes beyond his ability to control. Because he was controlling it now didn't guarantee it would last even another five minutes. It wasn't especially easy to control right now either, the urge to sneer and say something cutting about Edric's addiction almost irresistible.

He grunted instead and set the bottle down and continued to eat. He glanced down the table and saw Lucia watching him and Farkas with wide eyes, then she noticed his regard and blushed at being caught and focused on her plate. It had been so long since anyone had thought anything of the two of them being identical twins that for several seconds he wondered what on earth the girl's problem was. He knew the two of them made a forbidding pair, tall and dark as they were, and neither had a naturally pleasant expression when at rest. Spending his entire life here in a hall full of warriors, Vilkas thought nothing of it, but it wasn't difficult to see how intimidated the child was.

Lucia was Tilma's to manage, thankfully, and so Vilkas ignored her and tried to enjoy his brother's closeness, even if said brother had a pungent and unpleasant miasma of wolf, dog, sweat, body oil, and Dragonborn about him. Shor's balls, but he _smelled_ , and Vilkas felt compelled to mutter, "One would hope your next stop is the bath."

"I know," Farkas replied in a similar tone, "but I promised I'd give the dog one, and I have to do that first. And I was hungry. And Edie was leaving."

Edie. Vilkas sighed internally and resigned himself to the cringe-worthy nickname. A woman's name. And of course Edric probably loved it, being what he was. He was male, no doubt about that, and only a complete idiot would doubt the Dragonborn's martial prowess, but there was that little something every so often, a lilt to his speech or a toss of the hair, a wave of a hand, that seemed discordant and jarring. No one else seemed to notice it, or didn't care if they did notice. Well Farkas had noticed, and mentioned it while yelling at Vilkas some time ago. Vilkas supposed he had mostly gotten used to the mannerisms at some point, grudgingly.

And why shouldn't he? What on Nirn did it even have to do with him that he should care? Farkas had been right, months ago, when he had said that it took more courage to live as you were than conform to some arbitrary notion of what was masculine, or not. It had never been an issue to him before. Before Farkas had fallen in love with a man who didn't always act in a traditionally masculine way. Shor's balls, he wasn't his father. He swore to the Nine that he wasn't.

Farkas went on in dread, "He's a damn big dog. I didn't think I'd have to do it alone, and I can't shout at him to make him behave."

He nearly said _Hell no_ , and maybe he would have if Farkas would have asked right away. But Farkas didn't. His twin didn't seem to even consider asking for Vilkas' help, as if it hadn't crossed his mind. That hurt.

Already regretting it, he sighed, "I will help."

Farkas looked at him in surprise, and that hurt too. "You will? I mean, thanks Vilkas," he said in relief, then a broad smile crossed his handsome face. How long had it been since he'd turned that smile on his twin? "We always wanted a dog, remember?"

"We wanted a puppy," he corrected. "That _beast_ is no puppy."

"He's a good dog, though." Meeko lifted his head to look at Farkas, and he laughed, "Yeah, you know you're a good boy, don't you." The dog's tail thumped on the floor then Meeko laid back down. "He's a good watchdog. He can help watch the hall and keep Tilma company."

"Tilma has company, and he will be one more mouth to feed, just like the girl." His brother's expression shuttered, and Vilkas didn't know how to fix it. Lucia didn't hear it, nor did Tilma or Njada. That was all he needed, to earn his foster mother's scolding and make the girl as afraid of him as Ria was. In a halting tone he offered, "Though...it isn't as if… That is, there is plenty to go around." Farkas grunted and kept his gaze forward as he ate. "Where eh...where did you find it? The dog."

"On the way to Morthal," his brother replied, expression easing. "Smelled something dead, so I checked it out. Some woodsman, trapper or fisher or something, near the marshes, dead from rockjoint. The dog wouldn't leave him, so Edie had to use a shout on him. One that makes animals obey. The dog kept trying to go back to his master, so Edie had to keep shouting and giving him bits of food as we rode away from the shack. Took a long time, but Meeko likes us both just as much now." The dog's tail wagged again, though he didn't raise his head.

_Probably because you both carry the same reek_. He nearly said it. By the Nine, this shouldn't be so hard. "So that was where you were all this time? Morthal?"

Farkas grumbled and shook his head, and, shockingly, his cheeks turned pink. He was _blushing_. "Don't want to talk about it."

Vilkas left the matter alone, barely, and focused on his dinner as best he could while his sense of smell was being assaulted.

When they finished eating and his twin called the dog to go downstairs, Vilkas followed along, keeping his lips sealed. _Keep your mouth shut. It shouldn't be so hard to keep your mouth shut_.

He managed, mostly, as the two of them trapped the dog in the bathing room then stripped down and wrestled the mutt into the big stone tub. Meeko yowled pitifully, fighting them every step of the way, leaving them both scratched and soaked. And pissed off.

"The baby was less trouble than this fucking dog," Farkas growled as they towelled it off, and Meeko whined and lowered his head, ears laid back. "And cuter."

Vilkas couldn't help but snort a laugh. "But he's such a good boy," he drawled in mock offense.

Farkas glared, then his lips twitched and he barked out a laugh, flicking the towel at his brother, who dodged it. "Asshole." Vilkas chuckled in response, and Farkas sighed and stood to let the dog out. Meeko took off at a run, shaking himself all over then running upstairs, where they heard Tilma's distant screeching as he shut the door. Farkas laughed and drained the tub of the filthy water. "She's gonna love him."

"So you say." His twin washed out the tub then began to refill it, while Vilkas stood awkwardly by, wondering if he should leave. Once upon a time staying wouldn't have been a question. It wasn't as if privacy had ever been an issue between them, and Farkas being bonded now didn't change that, when Edric wasn't around. At least there were no new marks on his brother to aggravate Vilkas, no bites or bruises on his skin. If there had been, he would have done his best to keep his mouth shut, no matter how hard it was, but it would have been hard. Perhaps if he just didn't bring up the… thing again. The mating bond.

He put back on his clothes then sat down on the bench against the wall with stilted movements, and Farkas didn't seem to care. His brother cleaned up after the dog then got in the tub, only casting an occasional glance Vilkas' way, not seeming to mind the company. Vilkas wanted to believe that his twin missed him too. How could you not miss someone you had spent your entire life with, regardless of a lovely new distraction?

Feeling compelled to say something, Vilkas asked, "The vampires. Where did you find them?"

"Half-Moon Mill. They were the mill owners," Farkas answered. He made a face. "Found the guy in a shed, feeding on a bandit. The woman was running the saw, with the kid playing nearby." He ducked down under the water to wet his hair.

Vilkas grunted in surprise. He had been past that mill dozens of times over the years. "A recent thing, then? Them being vampires."

"Yeah. Less than a year. The guy infected his wife. She swore she never killed anyone, and the baby was clean." He soaped up his hair and went on, "Not sure I would've noticed the kid. Even if I had…" Farkas shook his head, looking troubled. "It was a good thing Edie did. I hope it works out."

"But...the cure. He said it involved a soul gem. The…"

"Torvar gem, yeah. Guess, it's some kind of trade or something. The soul in a black soul gem gets traded to Molag Bal for the vampire's, maybe?" Farkas shrugged. "Sucks for Torvar, but better him than her."

_Stendarr's mercy_ , Vilkas thought in horror. He stared at his brother with his mouth hanging open, and Farkas studiously avoided his gaze as he continued washing. Vilkas knew, he was absolutely certain, that Edric hadn't intended this when he had stolen Torvar's soul. How could he have? Happening upon the vampires had been chance. Vilkas had never fooled himself that they had destroyed every single vampire in Skyrim, and what was to prevent new ones from moving in? But for them to be living brazenly, in the open… How had no one noticed before Farkas and Edric rode by?

And the little boy… It would have only been a matter of time before hunger drove the parents to feed on him. That the mother had managed to keep the child safe so far, well, she deserved a chance to live for that alone. Vilkas detested vampires as much as anyone, especially so as a member of the Circle, being subjected to their stench in a way ordinary folk were not, but even he would have had a hard time killing the woman.

He met his brother's eyes, and when Farkas narrowed his own he nodded and looked down at his hands, slowly rubbing them together. "It was a good thing," he admitted in a mutter. Better Torvar than an innocent mother. As foul as vampires were, many of them had not asked for the curse, as opposed to Vilkas' own kind. He had no one to blame but himself for taking on the beastblood, no matter how young he had been at the time.

"Hey." Vilkas wearily lifted his head. "Got a book to read or something? I'm gonna do some carving. You could, uh, come sit." _Since Edric is gone_ went unsaid.

Sitting in the Dragonborn's quarters while smelling his lingering scent wasn't Vilkas' idea of a good time, if he even knew what one was anymore, but he couldn't tell his brother no. He nodded and gave him as much of a smile as he could muster, the twitch of one corner of his mouth. "Aye," he agreed. Farkas' expression brightened and it made Vilkas want to cry.

"Edie might have some books you haven't read. In our room."

Vilkas grimaced, and as his brother drained the tub he muttered, "I doubt he would want me touching his belongings."

"If I say it's okay, he won't mind. Or won't say anything about it, at least." He got out and picked up one of the folded cloths nearby to start drying off. "There aren't many in there. I don't know what they are. They uh, might be about magic. I know at least one is, if he hasn't sent it back to the College. I don't think he has."

Vilkas nearly refused. He should have. His mind shied away from the memory of the one time he had gotten caught reading a book about magic, though how his dimwitted sire had known what the book was about was a mystery. Jergen hadn't been able to read much better than Farkas could.

Fuck Jergen. Magic was for milk-drinkers and elves, or unnatural creatures like the Dragonborn, but it wasn't as if looking through a book on magic would make one spontaneously combust or doom your soul. How could it, if Shor let mages into his hall? After all, even if he was a monster, Edric was no liar. If he had said mages were welcome in Sovngarde, then they were.

"I'll take a look," he said, keeping his tone one of unconcern. He doubted Edric had too many books in there anyway. The thought of just how many books the Dragonborn had stashed away around Skyrim was tantalizing, though. Books Vilkas had never read, had never even heard of let alone laid eyes upon. Edric had told him that the hunger for knowledge was difficult to satisfy, so he surely had a collection that if put together would rival most libraries in Tamriel.

He followed Farkas into the room his twin shared with his...gods help him, his husband, and was immediately hit with a mix of scents that made his nose wrinkle. The smell of wolf was strong, though it was overridden by the smell of male sweat coming off the pile of dirty clothes in a basket by the door, but underlying everything else was dragon, just a hint here and there. For one mortifying moment he had the bestial urge to empty the basket out and roll in the clothes, and he hated himself for it. Even Farkas wouldn't do that, as much as it seemed he had embraced his beast. Farkas closed the door, and he stayed there for a moment while Vilkas mentally begged his twin to not prove him wrong, then Farkas grumbled and turned away to find clean clothes.

"I really miss him," he pouted.

Vilkas squeezed his lips together and said nothing. How in Oblivion was Farkas going to cope for perhaps years apart if he was unhappy after less than an hour? How would he cope if Edric died?

He took a seat in the chair in the corner of the room, detesting how awkward things were between him and his brother, the one person that never should have been possible with. As Farkas dressed he shot glances at Vilkas every so often but didn't say what was on his mind. Not so long ago, Vilkas would have assumed nothing was.

He sighed and looked up at the deer skull, scrubbed clean, then he pulled his eyes away and they fell on the carved hawk on the side table. So that was Edric's side of the bed, then. He mumbled, "What are you going to carve?"

"A toy for Eivind." Seeing Vilkas' confusion, he clarified, "The little boy. Something simple, like a bear. That's an easy shape. It won't take as long as the hawk, or the mammoth." Farkas snapped his fingers. "I forgot to ask the Khajiit about tusks for the mammoth. I'll ask when we head out to the farm."

"Aye."

"The books." He looked around then went to Edric's nightstand and pulled out the large bottom drawer. "There's only a few in here. I think the red one's his favorite. I've seen him read it off and on, but like he's read it before. It looks kind of worn. Old. But not like found-in-a-ruin old."

Vilkas took it and looked at the cover, rust-red leather embossed with three lilies. They could have been simply decorative, or they could be a symbol of Dibella. The goddess of beauty and the arts seemed more the sort of goddess that Edric would worship than Kynareth.

He opened the cover, and on the title page it said _The Red Kitchen Reader_. A...cookbook? That was unlikely, though Vilkas' singular brush with Edric's cooking had been pleasant, if awkward in the timing.

As Farkas dressed Vilkas began to read, wondering where the book had come from. He had never heard of it before, and the author was unknown to him, not that he was as well-read as he would like to be. The small collection of books he owned had been mostly gathered in the course of doing jobs, or had been given to him by his brother or other members of the Circle after they had found them in the same manner. Edric had no doubt acquired most of his the same way, though his travels had taken him much further than Vilkas could ever hope to go.

It quickly became apparent that the book was not a cookbook at all, but a sort of autobiography, and as he read he became so intrigued by it that he scarcely noticed his brother settle himself nearby on the floor with his back against the bed to start whittling. Time passed by, the silence companionable and neither willing to break it. Farkas finally got up and took the basket of laundry upstairs, but Vilkas continued reading, engrossed.

Farkas returned, rubbing his teeth with a cleaning cloth and smelling of mint, and still said nothing as he puttered around the room, then sat down on the bed to clean and inspect his sword.

The candles had burned low by time Vilkas finished, and his eyes were burning, and he gently closed the cover then rubbed his eyes.

"Good book?" Farkas murmured. He had laid down on the bed at some point and was half asleep, watching his brother with half-lidded eyes.

"Aye," Vilkas whispered.

"What's it about? Never thought to ask him."

"It was…" Vilkas took a breath to explain then closed his mouth again, then he mumbled, "It was about all of the great meals the author had eaten in his life, but...more. The adventures he had. The experiences he had while chasing the perfect meal. It was...it was about tasting life as much as tasting food, I think. It was…" Beautiful. He didn't know what more to say. It had been one of the most affecting books he had ever read, and he couldn't really say why.

_After a while, as I grew older, I stopped trying. It is better as it remains in my memory, the most perfect meal I ever ate._ Why those lines made his chest ache so badly he didn't know. He couldn't put it into words. It was no wonder though that Edric enjoyed the book so, if it moved the Dragonborn as it had Vilkas.

It should have made him angry that he had something in common with the other man, but he was too tired for the anger to get the better of him, and the book's contents wouldn't leave him. He got up, stretching out his stiff back and sore ass, then brought it over. Farkas sat up and took it then opened the drawer to put it away. There were only a few books in there, no room for anything else, and one battered leather-bound journal, tied shut with smooth twine.

He looked away from it then back again, itching to ask, knowing what it was: the Dragonborn's journal. Vilkas had seen Edric with it, sitting at Kodlak's bedside, telling the old man about his exploits. The diary was possibly full of accounts of Edric's adventures, the places he had been and seen.

He wrestled with temptation for several seconds. Gods how he wanted to look at it, but if he asked Farkas might tell his lover, who would gloat mercilessly. He could always ask his brother not to tell, but he wasn't a damned child.

In the end he said nothing, and Farkas slid the drawer shut. Vilkas knew the journal was there, though. He would never be so dishonorable as to come into the room without permission and go through the Dragonborn's things. Never. It was going to stick at the back of his mind and drive him mad, but he refused to give way to such a base urge.

He muttered, "I will see you in the morning."

"Sure, Vilkas."

He nodded and let himself out of the room, closing the door behind him. He stayed there for several moments, wanting to go back, wanting to ask if for just one night he could sleep next to his brother, the way they used to when they were young, or not so young and had shared a woman between them. Those days seemed so far away. He could barely remember how it had been the last time he had been with a woman, though it had only been this summer, with Narri, could barely remember what a woman felt like, or how she tasted. Now, he didn't dare try to get in bed with anyone without his brother there or his beast might get out of hand in the heat of the moment. That last time had been with Farkas there, his scent and his presence keeping Vilkas' beast manageable. There was no chance of that happening ever again, not now that the relationship with Edric was permanent.

Fists clenched, Vilkas went to his room and locked himself in. He was frustrated more than angry, though he knew how quickly that could change. This entire afternoon and evening had been frustrating, humiliating at some moments. Edric was gone again, and would be for close to a week, so Vilkas was being afforded that small relief, but the man's presence never really left.

Vilkas undressed and blew out the candles but sleep wouldn't come, the book's contents swirling in his head along with Skjor's words and Edric's words and Farkas' words… Words, too many words stuffed into the space of several hours, words that were hard to absorb, and beneath it all the general malaise that never left him, that hadn't left him in a year. Years, maybe. The only time it had lessened to any degree was last spring, during Aela's season, when he had given into his beast for one night to do his duty to his sister and the Circle.

That was _not_ going to happen next spring, and he didn't care what his packmates thought of that. The moment he started sensing the change in her he was running as fast and far as he could. He would regret leaving her unattended, but Skjor could see to it, since Farkas was bonded and Edric had an utter lack of interest in anything female. It wasn't a given that a female's heat would even register with either member of a bonded couple anyway.

He flipped to his other side, his mind drifting back to the book. Had Edric seen any of the places the author had mentioned? Merringar was a prized delicacy, the heavy sea ice rarely allowing fishing boats to go that far north even at the height of summer, so when the few traditional fisherfolk who still knew how to catch the huge fish were able to bring them in they were quickly auctioned off to land on Jarls' and nobles' dinner tables. Vilkas had certainly never tasted merringar, though reportedly its white meat had a very smooth, firm texture and wasn't flaky like most fish.

It was impossible that Edric had ever gone on such a fishing expedition, especially in the Sea of Ghosts. He had spent most of his decade-long career as a soldier in Cyrodiil, as far as Vilkas knew. The places he had been though, that this author hadn't...Sovngarde, Apocrypha, Solstheim, gods knew where else. And where had Vilkas ever been? Over nearly every square inch of Skyrim, that was for certain, but no farther. It wasn't as if he hadn't dreamed of traveling and seeing new places, Morrowind especially. But he had always had his duty to the Companions, and his brother, and the beastblood made him wary of heading into uncertain territories, and at this point in his life…

Time kept creeping along, and Vilkas wasn't getting any younger. He was no longer what he considered young at all. He was getting to the age where starting a family, even if he was cured, wouldn't be advisable, if for no other reason than that it increased the odds that he wouldn't see any children grow to adulthood, and taking a wife a great deal younger than him wasn't a comfortable notion. Narri was close to thirty, having never wanted to settle down, but she had hinted at it a time or two in the last year.

_Go see her_ , the traitorous voice whispered. He grumbled and ignored it. He had been with Narri a number of times without Farkas there, but he wasn't about to risk it. Not with Narri, not with anyone, not even another man. The memory of that bite mark on Edric's shoulder came back to him, and he'd be damned before he engaged in that kind of behavior, and he would, he _knew_ he would.

No, better to stick to the safe and dependable comfort of his own hand and hope that against all odds the Circle was able to, somehow, find all the pieces of Wuuthrad, and _then_ hope that Eorlund was a great enough smith to be able to reforge the legendary weapon. Vilkas trusted in the belief that old Gray-Mane truly was the greatest smith in Skyrim, and that the Skyforge up to the task. He didn't trust in much else anymore, but he trusted that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait...this has been quite the winter and it's been difficult to find the motivation to write. I've never really had much personal experience with depression or anxiety, or even the seasonal blahs, but the last few months have just been...meh. However we had a nice family vacation last weekend in Las Vegas and the days are getting longer, birds are singing in the mornings now and flowers are starting to come out. We have months of rain yet ahead of us here in the PNW but it's still an improvement. I hope everything is going well for all of you!


	42. Chapter 42

**Vilkas**

A sneer slid over Vilkas' face as he watched the Altmer woman drop her hoe and run into the farmhouse, no easy task with a distended belly.

"Nice," Farkas muttered in disgust as he dismounted from his horse.

"Aye," Vilkas agreed. So Vantus Loreius' wife was pregnant and the couple most likely had wanted Lucia out of the house so as not to compete with their own offspring. Disgusting.

They made their way to the front door, and his twin reminded him, "You're only doing the talking."

"And nothing else, yes, I'm able to keep instructions in my head for more than twenty-four hours," he retorted sourly. Farkas let it go, though it wasn't the first reminder Vilkas had gotten today. Aela had been appalled when she arrived home yesterday and found out what had happened to Lucia, though she had seemed satisfied with having a roof over the girl's head and had cared little about the uncle, beyond making certain that if it came to roughing up Vilkas wasn't the one to do it. Both the Huntress and Tilma had warned him as the twins were leaving to keep his hands to himself.

Farkas banged his fist on the door, and Loreius yelled from inside, "I have no business with the Companions! What do you want?"

"You know what we want," Vilkas replied. "Open the door." The twins waited, and as expected the door didn't open, and Vilkas was certain that it was locked or bolted. He could hear the faintest sound of two hearts pounding in fear inside the house, and he licked his lips as he fought back the thrill of excitement it gave him. He raised his voice and said, "You can open the door or we can take it down. Either way, you're handing over the girl's share of her inheritance."

"S-She ran off in town and we couldn't find her," the woman cried, voice shaking. "We looked everywhere!"

Farkas barked, "She isn't two! We know what you did so cut the crap!"

Vilkas warned, "Open the door now or we will bust it down and take what we think is fair."

"This is a robbery!" Curwe shrieked. "Guards! Guards!"

Farkas rolled his eyes, and Vilkas stated, "The guards took a walk up the road. Even if they hadn't they wouldn't interfere. I don't know how you Imperials do it down south, but child abandonment is a crime here in Skyrim. You could be brought up on charges and you would lose a great deal more than a couple hundred septims."

Loreius asked, "And how do we know you won't keep it for yourselves?"

"You don't. Open the goddamn door," Farkas growled.

Vilkas muttered to his brother, "That is not helping." Finding himself the reasonable one was novel to say the least. He raised his voice and said, "Five. Four. Three. Two-" The door was yanked open then the man scrambled backwards to stand in front of his wife, who watched them with glittering gold eyes, her hands sparking. The corner of the Companion's lip lifted as his eyes narrowed. What a delightful couple they made: a magic-using elf and a milk-drinking, kin-betraying Imperial. Vilkas was surprised the man wasn't hiding behind his wife. He folded his arms and said, "First, I want to see the deed to the farm."

Curwe cried, "You can't take our farm! It's all we have!"

"Do it," Farkas ordered. "I don't like the thought of roughing up a pregnant lady."

"You bastards," Loreius choked in disbelief, face flushed.

Vilkas waited while the man went to the bed and lifted up a floorboard beneath it, bringing out a strongbox. Neither twin would harm a pregnant woman, obviously, but he had no qualms about making the threat. Loreius produced an envelope and held it out in a trembling hand, and Farkas yanked it away from him and handed it over to Vilkas. He had no experience reading legal documents, but the deed was simple enough. He heard Loreius swallow hard as Vilkas' eyes narrowed. The farm was to be held in trust by Vantus Loreius for Lucia Loreius until she reached her majority, with a portion of the proceeds every year set aside for the uncle as payment for his services. No provision was made for any other circumstance, though by law the dispensation of the property could be brought before Jarl Skald if something happened to the girl and Vantus Loreius was the next of kin.

He folded the deed and slid it back into the envelope, and he began to tap it against his gloved palm as he asked with a sneer, "Just what were you hoping would happen to the girl when you abandoned her? Why did you not just slit her throat and be done with it?"

The woman gasped, "You brute! We're not murderers!"

"No, just thieves and traitors to your own kin."

"Thieves, we're not thieves! This is our farm!"

Vilkas slapped the deed against his hand with more force, keeping a rein on his growing anger with an effort. "Your husband is the caretaker of the farm until the girl turns eighteen, nothing more. The farm belongs to Lucia. Did you not read the deed?" Curwe's face flushed dark gold as her gaze slid over to her husband, who avoided her eyes. "It seems you have some talking to do," he said with mock thoughtfulness. He held out the deed to the elf, who snatched it out of his hand and pulled it from the envelope to read.

Loreius grimaced as his wife's expression grew furious, and Farkas grumbled, "What're we gonna do?"

"We're going to take the money that Uncle Vantus is now going to generously hand over for the girl's upkeep. He is going to continue to provide a portion of the farm's profits every year at this time after the main harvest, for the Companions to hold in trust for her until she reaches her majority and decides whether to take back her rightful property or allow him to buy it from her. I think two hundred septims now, as the Harbinger suggested, and a hundred a year every year after that."

"You can't," the man quavered. "We'll starve this winter."

"Like you left her to starve?" Vilkas barked, his meager patience gone. "She was skin and bones when we took her in! A child! The town drunk was looking after her!" The girl hadn't really been starving, not yet, but she had been thinner than she should have been.

Curwe threw the deed at her husband's face and cried, "You said the temple would take her in! You said she'd be fine!"

Farkas fumed, "Maybe I should kick his ass anyway."

"Maybe so," Vilkas agreed.

"My wife is pregnant," Loreius went on. "I can't-"

"Give them the damned money," Curwe hissed. He hesitated, and she chattered a stream of elf tongue at him as she yanked the box out of his hands and shoved it at Vilkas. "Take it. Just take it and leave."

Vilkas took the box and carried it to the dining table, saying, "Two hundred septims, and no more." There were a good five or six hundred in the box and taxes had been paid for the year, so the couple were in no danger of starving, though it would be a challenge for them next spring to buy the supplies needed to keep the farm running and themselves fed. Vilkas thought it unlikely the two would stick it out for the next six years until Lucia could take the farm back, if she wanted to. He had to wonder if their marriage would even last that long.

He counted out the money, handed it to his brother who put it in an empty coin purse they had brought just for that purpose, then he gave the strongbox back to the woman. She held it to her chest, glaring daggers at her husband. "One year from now," he reminded them, then he nodded to his brother and they left.

The door slammed shut behind them and Curwe began screaming at her husband. "Maybe she'll leave him," Farkas said, his tone indicating his hopes on the matter. "It's not like Lucia's a baby. She can talk and tell people what happened."

"Perhaps Vantus Loreius and his wife are exceptionally stupid," Vilkas drawled.

They mounted their horses and headed south, back to Whiterun, pulling up the hoods of their cloaks when the rain began. It was less than half a day's ride to the city, and an easy ride at that.

"I wonder where Edie and Skjor are right now."

Vilkas' lips pursed inside his helmet. It wasn't the first time Farkas had said something akin to this over the last two days, wondering where his lover, no, husband, was. It had been maddening the first few times until Vilkas decided to treat the matter as his brother talking to himself. Farkas didn't seem to require an answer, anyway.

"Wanna go to the Bannered Mare tonight?"

"Eh, why not," Vilkas replied. It had been a while, with his wariness over his behavior, never knowing when someone was going to set him off. In fact he hadn't been back since his run-in with that bizarre Breton man, not long after Edric had come to Jorrvaskr. Sam Something-Or-Other. Or Sanguine, if Edric was to be believed.

The thought was chilling, suddenly. He hadn't really thought about the encounter since right after it happened. He hadn't known Edric was Dragonborn then. Perhaps...perhaps it really had been the Daedric Prince of Debauchery, out wandering Skyrim's taverns and inns looking for entertainment. Why would Edric… No, Edric was no liar. If he had said that was Sanguine, then it was.

He had to wonder if Edric would bother saving him from that fate if it had happened at this point instead of early on. He honestly couldn't say that Edric would now. After all, it wouldn't kill him, would it? It hadn't killed Edric, though it had certainly been a 'night to remember'.

A shudder went through him. Better to not think about that.

Whitewatch Tower was coming into view as Farkas leaned over his horse, and Vilkas would have ignored it if not for the way his twin's hands tightened on the reins and breath left him in a rush.

"Oh no…" Farkas pulled his horse to a stop, hunched over and hugging his left side.

"What's wrong?" Vilkas demanded, bringing his horse alongside. His brother didn't answer, and Vilkas reached out and gripped his arm and shook it. "What's wrong!" As if he didn't know. The bond, the fucking bond, and Edric had gotten wounded, _again_ , and Farkas was feeling it. "I told you this would happen!" Vilkas cried.

With a snarl his twin shoved him off, so hard that Vilkas fought to stay in the saddle, startling the horse and making it whinny and dance. He fought to control his mount, heart hammering, imagining himself thrown, foot tangling in the stirrup and horse dragging him down the road. He had ridden horses since he was small and knew how to manage them, but he was also well aware of what could go wrong.

It didn't take long to calm the horse, and once he did he pulled off a gauntlet to wipe the sweat from his face. His brother was doing the same, and he kept his distance as he asked again, "What's wrong?"

"Shut up," Farkas growled, nudging his horse into a canter and continuing towards the city.

Vilkas kicked his own horse to follow, insisting, "Not this time. I overheard you two talking about him being wounded. I don't care who he is, he shouldn't be out on a job while injured!"

"So now you're spying on people too?"

"I told Skjor. You had better hope that whatever just happened he is able to deal with it."

"It's the same wound," Farkas said, his tone helpless yet still angry. "It must've, I don't know, torn open or something."

"Just tell me what in Oblivion happened!" Vilkas yelled.

"None of your goddamn business!" Farkas yelled back, making his horse's ears flatten. "Why the fuck do you even care? You don't care, so don't pretend you do!"

"If I didn't care I wouldn't have told Skjor!"

His twin let out a gurgling growl of anger, his shoulders hunched and irises beginning to tinge with yellow, and Vilkas kept his mouth shut after that as they rode. Farkas was not only furious but worried about his man, even if it was that man's own damned fault for riding out injured, and if Vilkas kept pushing right now it was likely he'd get a fist for his troubles when they got back.

It was a tense, silent ride. A very uncomfortable ride. They reached the stables and handed off their mounts to Jervar Sable-Hilt then walked towards the city. The rain was pouring, mixed with bits of ice, and the cats were inside their tents with the flaps closed. Farkas had already spoken with them about having tusks made for his carved mammoth, so the foul weather would afford them plenty of time inside to work on it.

It had been odd, seeing Farkas talk to the Khajiit. It was odd altogether how different Farkas was since coming back. The change was subtle, but to Vilkas' eyes and ears it was also a bit jarring. He seemed more sure of himself. More confident. It was a side effect of the mating bond, certainly, but Vilkas couldn't fathom why it would have that effect. It wasn't as if it was a bad thing. It was...inconvenient, yes, but...not a bad thing. If Edric's time here had done nothing else, it had shown Vilkas that the way he and Farkas had always related to each other wasn't… It wasn't healthy. He didn't necessarily consider it unhealthy either, but it hadn't been fair. He couldn't help wishing for how things had been, but knowing what he did now, that Farkas hadn't been happy...how could he live with himself, knowing his twin would have been unhappy? Or at least no better than barely content?

Edric made Farkas happy, and that was the bare bones of the matter. Edric made Farkas happy, and most of the time these days Vilkas did not. He had to question how often he even had in the past or if the happy times were just Farkas giving him lip service.

As they passed under the first stone arch Vilkas said to his brother's back, his voice strained, "I told Skjor because I care. I can dislike your...ugh, your _husband_ , and still not want him to come to harm." Farkas grumbled and came to a stop under the shelter of the arch and Vilkas moved to his side, lowering his voice. "Does it hurt?"

"No," his twin muttered. "Not really. It's like...like a ghost pain." He grimaced and rubbed his face, smearing his war paint further. "And now it's the cravings. He's been fine for a long time, but I can tell it's bothering him right now, needing a drink, and… and he's mad at himself and his side hurts and there's nothing I can do."

Even if Farkas had been there, Vilkas knew there was little the big oaf could have done, but he wasn't fool enough to say it. Perhaps Farkas' being there would have helped if only to be a comfort. "Perhaps...talk to Aela."

"I did last night."

"About this?"

Farkas frowned. "Not really." His frown turned into a scowl. "It's between me and Edie. It's private."

Vilkas wasn't sorry for that, but said, "I suggest it because she might have some ideas, that is all. As to how to use the...thing."

"It isn't a thing! We're moon-wed!"

Vilkas held up his hands, nodding tiredly. "All right. The bond. She might have some idea as to how to use the connection between you to help." The thought of which was slightly horrifying, beyond knowing someone else was in pain. The notion of having no emotional privacy, of having another's feelings intrude upon his own, was repulsive. As private and sometimes solitary as Edric was, Vilkas wondered how the man tolerated it.

"I guess so," Farkas relented. He closed his eyes, sighing heavily. "My poor sweetheart."

It was an effort to keep a sneer off his face. Sweetheart. How a man who could shout someone to death and was strong enough to probably rip someone's spine out with his bare hands could be considered a sweetheart was beyond Vilkas, though he didn't doubt that Edric was sweet enough in private to Farkas. He had been affectionate when they were getting ready to take their leave of each other. He seemed very protective of Farkas and never spoke down to him the way everyone else tended to do, even in kindness.

The way Vilkas always had, even when defending his more mentally-limited twin from others' ridicule.

And yet here was Farkas with a husband, and Vilkas was alone, for all his smarts. Because Farkas was kind, and Vilkas was not. He wasn't sure he ever had been, but...he hadn't been unkind either, once upon a time, and his love for his brother had never wavered.

"He…" Vilkas grimaced. "He has Skjor with him. I'm certain he will be fine."

"Yeah. I guess." Farkas grumbled and opened his eyes. He looked at Vilkas and nibbled his bottom lip, as if debating whether to tell him something.

"How did he get hurt?"

"He wouldn't want me to tell you," Farkas said in a wary tone with a shake of his head. "He was really upset about it. It was...it was while we were hunting in the marshes, and that's all I'm gonna say." He frowned. "It was a bad night. It started nice, and then it turned bad, and it was foggy and if he hadn't had his magic we would've been lost in the marshes and…" He shivered. "It was _bad_. I'm never going back to Hjaalmarch as long as I live. Neither of us are. Bad things happen there. I mean, we found the dog, and that was good, and we bonded there, and that was really good, but other than that it's bad."

Vilkas nodded, his expression softening. "Aye, it is," he agreed. He was wildly curious about just what had happened out there, but things were good again, for the moment, and hard as it was not to, he wasn't going to press. He clapped his twin on the arm. "We should spar for a while, since we're already in armor. Burn some time before we head down to the Mare, take your mind off...things." Edric, and all the troubles that came with Edric, with which Farkas was now inextricably entwined.

"Yeah, okay." He huffed unhappily. "Poor Edie."

Vilkas' lips pursed as they continued toward the city, then through it. Most people were indoors, though Adrianne was hard at work at her forge, the heat of it protecting her from the rain and cold.

"Hey, I'm gonna stop in," Farkas said. "Just for a second. To see the baby."

He nodded and tried not to grumble, following his twin inside Warmaiden's. Keep Farkas happy. Do what his twin wanted for once, instead of being the demanding one.

Ulfberth was sitting in a chair at the center of the room, watching his dark-haired daughter and the towheaded boy playing together on the rug. The burly merchant nodded to the Companions in greeting.

"Hey Ulf," Farkas said with a brief smile. "How's it going with the pup?"

"He's been no trouble," the man replied. "There was a bit of a fuss last night, but we knew there would be. We took care of it."

"Okay. Good."

Vilkas glanced at his brother and saw him staring at the little boy with a sad expression, and it made something clench in his gut to see it. So Farkas had wanted to keep the child, then? Surely he knew that was impossible. Edric was going off to war in the spring, something everyone seemed very sure of. Their duties as of now left no time for a child.

Well, clearly Farkas knew, and that was why the child was here, and not in Jorrvaskr. One child there was plenty, and Lucia was old enough to at least be fairly self-sufficient. Tilma was much too old to raise another little one, and that was exactly what she would have ended up doing in this case.

The little boy looked up from the toys at the twins, and he was clearly confused. Vilkas realized the toddler hadn't seen them together, and they both had on war paint and helmets and probably looked rather frightening. Which was the point, really. Eivind stayed where he was while the little girl ignored both Companions, used to warriors coming in and out of the shop where she spent the day with her father.

Ulfberth said, "Annie and me've been talking. The boy's ma doesn't make it back, we wouldn't mind taking the boy. He's a fine little lad, and our Mattie here seems to like him. Bring it up with your man and the Harbinger, would you?"

"Sure. Though his ma might get back before they do."

"So be it. Otherwise we'll take him. We've been talking about having another, for Mattie's sake more than anything. It'd spare Annie the bearing. Don't like her working the forge as hard as she does as it is, let alone while she's carrying. You know how she is."

"I'm pretty sure it won't be a problem," Farkas assured him. "Skjor won't care, and Edie feels good about him being here. The baby I mean."

Vilkas sighed at the nickname, and Ulfberth stared at the Companions for several seconds before he asked in disbelief, "The Dragonborn lets you call him that?"

Farkas narrowed his eyes. "Yeah. He _likes_ it. But just from me."

The other man shook his head and put up his hands. "I'm not an idiot." He blew out a breath and shook his head again. "You're a braver man than me, Farkas. He's damn fine, but even if I was single I wouldn't have the balls to try bedding a fella like that. Good on you."

Farkas chuckled, and Vilkas had to fight not to roll his eyes. He nearly told Ulfberth that Farkas had had no idea who Edric was when he first started pursuing him, but it would most likely piss off Farkas and make Vilkas look petty, something he managed to do well enough already. Vilkas had to wonder if Farkas still would have approached Edric if he had known up front. Maybe not at first, but if the Dragonborn had stuck around long enough Vilkas was certain that his brother would have eventually brought things around to the same point. His twin's soft heart would have drawn him that direction, in time.

Ulfberth motioned with his chin towards Farkas, asking in a lowered voice, "So...what's it like?"

"C'mon, I'm not gonna tell you that," Farkas chided, though his tone was good-natured. "I don't know anyway. He's just Edie to me. He's just...he's...ehh, I'm not good with words."

"He seemed a decent enough sort when he came in to sell that ebony battleaxe. Little standoffish."

"He's a really private person. He's had too many people wanting things from him for too long. But he's a good man. That's why Eivind is here."

"Sure, sure," Ulfberth agreed, nodding. "No one doubts that." He gestured at Vilkas. "Not like you to keep your thoughts to yourself this long, Vil. What's your take on the Dragonborn, seeing's how he's a Companion now?"

 _Oh no_. He grit his teeth, his lips clamped shut, the impulse almost too strong to ignore. _I detest him. He's a prick and he's beautiful and he's a monster and I wish he'd never come to Whiterun_. And yet every time he went down that mental road the thought came back to him of Farkas lying dead on the plains, butchered by the Silver Hand. He finally ground out, "We have our differences, however he's my brother's man, and I will leave it at that."

"Ho ho, little tension in Jorrvaskr, eh?"

"There is always tension in Jorrvaskr," Vilkas spat. He was done with this. Ulfberth was a childhood friend, but he was better friends with Farkas than he was with Vilkas. Though that was always the case, wasn't it? It always had been.

He left the shop and started down the road, but found himself coming to a stop in front of Breezehome, trying to collect himself. The Dragonborn's future home. Farkas' too, though Vilkas wasn't certain his brother knew that. Surely he at least knew Edric had bought it.

Had Edric moved anything into it yet? The steps looked swept, the accumulation of years of leaves and dirt that had blown up against the door gone. Edric had mentioned his caches, and there were some in Whiterun hold, but had he had the time or opportunity to move any of it to the house? The ebony armor wasn't in his and Farkas' room, nor was that odd sword with the purplish glow, so it had to be in there, and if it was in here then surely other things were. Strange things. Artifacts. Dragon remains. Books. Secrets.

"He bought it."

Vilkas nearly came out of his skin at the sound of his brother's voice. How had he not heard him come out, or approach? He was in town, safe, so he wasn't as alert as he could be, and he was preoccupied as usual, but it was still no excuse to not hear a 250 pound man in heavy armor coming up behind him. "The house, you mean," he said, sounding a bit breathless from the scare.

"Yeah. The day he killed Torvar. I haven't been inside yet." He came up next to his brother, and he looked the house over then smiled. "It's a nice house, from the outside anyway."

"I suppose." Severio Pelagia's was larger, however this house was in one piece. That was rather important. Breezehome had stood vacant for so many years that Vilkas couldn't remember who had ever lived there.

"I think Edie put some stuff in there. He showed me one of his caches. I think he might've moved it all here while we were going after the Silver Hand. It was where he had the ebony armor and sword stored. You wouldn't believe all the stuff in there. I couldn't believe my eyes. Jewelry and coins, dragon scales and bones. And he said it wasn't much, just a little collection of things. He-" Farkas stopped short, glancing at Vilkas, then he bit his bottom lip. "Anyway, it's a nice house. From the outside. Has room for a couple of kids and a housecarl. That's what Edie says."

Vilkas grunted. "Yes. That is...nice."

"C'mon." He nudged his brother, and Vilkas grumbled and they continued on their way towards the market. "I tried to tell him that maybe he should have a housecarl. Here in Whiterun, I mean. He got mad. So I let it go."

"He's already…" Killed two. "Lost two. It isn't unreasonable to not want to risk another."

"Yeah, I guess."

Vilkas said in a mock thoughtful tone, "Surprising, that he got mad at _you_."

Farkas chuckled. "Nah. He just got mad in general. Upset. He never gets mad at me. Well, he did once, but that was a long time ago, and I had it coming. It didn't last long." He took in a deep breath and smiled up at the sky, though it was still pouring down rain. "He feels better now. That's good."

"Aye," Vilkas whispered. "It is."

Farkas' talkativeness ceased as they walked, but it wasn't an awkward silence. Strange, how much Farkas had to say these days. Maybe he had always had things to say but hadn't bothered, thinking no one cared, or believing he would be ridiculed for it. Or Vilkas had talked over the top of him.

Edric though...from the start the Dragonborn had listened. Encouraged. Never patronized. Edric could have had anyone he wanted, and yet he had chosen this slow but kind man, and made him happy.

Gods, but that hurt to think about. The lump that rose in his throat made it so tight that he had to cough to relieve it, and Farkas slapped him on the back a few times, trying to help. It didn't. It made it worse.

They passed the afternoon sparring, and doing it in the rain in heavy armor was grueling but satisfying. Vilkas' heart wasn't in it, not really, but the extra work wore him down, tired him out, one of the few things that made the restlessness and anger recede for any length of time. His thoughts were preoccupied with his brother, with his mistakes, with their future, or futures, rather, since they were separate now. There wouldn't be a big house in town that they could fix up together, a house big enough for them to share, with pretty wives and a litter of children that would be theirs together.

Instead Edric would go off to war and probably die, and Farkas would grieve, and hopefully not just give up on life as Aela had warned might happen when one half of a bonded pair passed away. Or Edric would live, somehow, and come back and officially marry Farkas, and they would move into Breezehome and adopt a couple children, and Edric would do whatever it was Thanes did, and Farkas would find something to occupy his free time, since he wouldn't have to work with a rich husband.

And Vilkas would keep going as he was, he supposed. Fight with the Companions until a job took him out, eventually. They had the cure, but not Wuuthrad. One was useless without the other. Even cured, what were his prospects? It had been so long since he'd visited Narri that she could have conceivably found another by now, and if he had to be honest with himself, something that was happening with more frequency these days, Narri had wanted the package deal. She had always been glad to see just Vilkas come through the inn's door, but she had lit up when both twins had come in. There was no guarantee that she would want Vilkas on his own. No guarantee at all.

At the Bannered Mare that night Vilkas found himself drinking more than he should, more than he had in years, and it was foolish, extremely foolish, but Farkas was happy, and that odd Breton wasn't around, and Hulda was pleased to have both twins back in her establishment, and frankly Vilkas just wanted to not think for a while. Drinking didn't really help with that, and he wasn't the most pleasant drunk, he knew that, but Farkas didn't mind, and if Hulda scowled at him once in awhile when he pounded his hand on the bar too loudly, he could take it.

The evening passed pleasantly though, the topics of conversation safe, and while Farkas paced himself he seemed relaxed. Happy, if a little distracted, and only a little tipsy. People came and went, though not as many as there would have been if the rain wasn't still coming down in icy sheets. Uthgerd wasn't in her usual corner to glare daggers at them, and Olfina wasn't there, rarely taking the time away from her duties at Dragonsreach to sit at the bar and mope over the dissolution of her not-so-secret love affair with Jon Battle-Born, who seldom returned to Whiterun these days, preferring Solitude and the Bard's College. Even Sinmir hadn't ventured out tonight, and he was as regular as they came.

"What would you gentlemen like to hear?" Mikael the bard strolled over to the bar, strumming the lute, and went on, "Not one request tonight? It isn't like the Companions to not ask for a song or two."

Farkas waved him off, saying, "Kinda hard to want to pay when I get it better at home for free."

Vilkas barked out a laugh that turned into snorts into his mug as he took another drink, swallowing down the last of the mead. He chuckled as Mikael scowled then turned his nose up at them and returned to the fire, well away from Carlotta who was nursing a drink with her daughter at her side, nibbling a sweetroll. Vilkas hmphed and turned back, satisfied that he was leaving the woman alone. It hadn't been hard to get the bard to back off when Carlotta had asked for help a few years ago, fed up with Mikael's heavy-handed flirtations. The beautiful widow liked her life just as it was, without a man to complicate matters, and Mikael was interested only in conquest. Vilkas found it a miracle that any woman fell for the bard's wiles, but somehow he managed to get around with astonishing frequency.

"Edie has a sweet voice," Farkas said with pride. "Maybe Mikael's a better lute player, but Edie's a better singer."

He had never really heard Edric sing, other than the brief blurb at Kodlak's funeral, but the man's voice had been lovely, high-pitched and clear. "Maybe it's a Dragonborn thing," Vilkas slurred. "The Voice or something."

"Nah, he said his ma sings real pretty too. He said he takes after her. Guess she's really beautiful. We're gonna go see her soon. He's gonna tell her...uh…" Farkas trailed off. "Nevermind."

"Tell her what?"

"I said nevermind."

Vilkas nodded. "Oh, right, right. It's me, remember? Can't go telling me things. Nothing that matters." Maybe that was why Farkas had only had half a dozen drinks, spaced far enough apart for a man his size to only get a buzz. He had to keep all his lover's secrets, didn't he? Especially from Vilkas. Farkas grumbled, and Vilkas said, "No worries. I'm used to it at this point, you know?"

"Vilkas," his twin sighed. "C'mon, it isn't like that."

"Then what is it like?" Farkas didn't answer, and Vilkas' voice rose as he insisted, "No, I want to know, if it isn't like that, what is it like?" Hulda cleared her throat, giving the bigger twin a meaningful glance, and Vilkas sneered and dug out enough to pay his tab and slapped it on the counter. "Time for Vilkas to go, right? There's only so much of me any one person can take, after all."

Hulda groused, "When you start getting like this, damn straight. I don't want any trouble here."

Farkas assured her, "We're going. No problem." He paid for his drinks then nudged his brother. "We're going."

"Well maybe I don't feel like it," Vilkas muttered, his tone peevish. "Did you ever think of that?"

"Yeah, I did. We're going anyway."

"Fine, fine," he sighed. He didn't have the energy to fight it, though he wasn't tired enough to go to bed, and he knew that was where Farkas would send him once they got home. He rose to his feet, barely able to stay on them when he turned to leave the inn. It had been years since he had drunk enough to be truly drunk, and that was exactly what he was. Not the most drunk he had ever been by far, but more than a man his age should drink in one night.

Age. He was too well aware of his age. Gods, he was getting old, forty-two before long. Too old to still be single, too old to still be fighting for a living. Maybe Skjor and Kodlak had been happy with that life, but Vilkas wasn't. It was what he had always done, because he knew nothing else, had been raised to be nothing but a mercenary, no matter how skilled. He didn't want to keep dragging his tired, sorry ass out on jobs over and over again until he was crippled or something killed him. He didn't want to keep doing this. Tilma had been right about that.

"I don't want to keep doing this," he complained as they left the Mare, and when he stumbled on the stairs his brother caught him, throwing his arm around Farkas' shoulder.

"Then don't," Farkas said, as if it was just that easy.

"But what else am I supposed to do?"

"Hey, you're the one who wanted to go drinking, not me."

Vilkas shook his head, the movement making him dizzy and sending him lurching against his twin, who caught him and set him upright again. "Nonono, I mean the fighting. The Companions. I don't want to do it anymore." Farkas didn't respond, and when Vilkas looked at him he was frowning. He stopped them by the Bosmer hunter's stall, the rain a drizzle at this point, but it was late and with the weather no one else was in the market square except a couple guards under the cover of the shop porches. "I'm tired," he stressed.

Farkas' expression softened. "Yeah, I know."

"Even if I gave in and hunted again, I would still be tired all the time. I can't sleep. I can't ever sleep for more than an hour or two at a time." Farkas nodded, looking sad. "How do you stand it? Why did you give in?"

"'Cause it never really bothered me, and 'cause of Edie. And don't ask me why he did it. You know why."

"It still isn't right."

"He thinks it is, and so do I. We sleep fine now that we have each other. I mean, it isn't perfect, we still wake up a lot, but it isn't like it was. Things are good. We're happy with how things are."

"You won't be happy when he dies." Farkas' eyes narrowed, and Vilkas grabbed Farkas' shirt and said in a desperate tone, "He's going to _die_ , Farkas. What are you going to do when he dies?"

"He isn't going to die," Farkas growled. "Stop saying that."

"But what if he does? If he goes to war? I don't want him to die and leave you ruined."

His twin stated, "It won't, 'cause if he dies I'm going after him, simple as that." Vilkas stared at him in horror, and Farkas glared at him and said, "We already agreed that's how it is. Either of us goes, the other goes too. I won't live like that, half-alive and miserable. He doesn't want to either." Vilkas blinked and swallowed, jaw clenched. "You don't understand how it is," Farkas stressed, voice lowered. "What it's like to love someone like that."

"I do. I love you."

Farkas sighed, "Shit, you _are_ drunk. Come on." He took Vilkas' arm and pulled him along.

"It's true," Vilkas mumbled, a lump in his throat. "You're my brother, my twin brother."

"I know, and I love you too. You know I do. And I know you do, but…" Farkas grumbled. "I just wish everything wasn't so goddamn hard."

"Because I'm an asshole," Vilkas moaned. He stumbled up the stairs to the Wind District, Farkas keeping him upright.

"Once in a while, yeah, but not all the time, and it's just been worse lately."

"Sometimes I think there must be something wrong with me. More than the beast. Why else was Pa so hard on me when he wasn't on you?"

"Shit," Farkas whispered. "You really are drunk if you're calling him that." He sighed. "Pa was hard on me too, I just knew when to stay out of his way and do what he wanted. You never could, and that doesn't mean something's wrong with you, you're just...strong-willed, that's all."

"Strong-willed," Vilkas laughed bitterly. He stopped by the Gildergreen, its fragrance filling the air through the rain, perhaps even stronger because of it. He couldn't walk past the little tree without thinking of Edric, the sapling infused with dragon blood that filled the plaza with the same spicy-dusty scent that graced the Dragonborn's skin. The Companion had grown up with the Gildergreen's heady floral perfume always in his nose, permeating the city, the constant breezes that flowed through the Wind District dispersing it everywhere, and now he couldn't remember how it used to smell, the memory of it tainted by the present and the constant reminder of whose blood birthed the tree. Even without the fragrance, the red-touched petals were still there.

"Yeah, and there's nothing wrong with that. You've just gotta learn to bend, that's all."

That was all. Just learn to bend. But wasn't he starting to, a little, at least with his brother? Learning to say he was sorry, realizing he had no right to dictate the terms of Farkas' life? Learning that his life was his own, and only his own, now that his twin had a husband and a world that Vilkas could only ever touch the edges of from now on? The thought made him want to cry, that he was so completely on his own. He didn't have Kodlak to lean on, the man who he had so often desperately wished was his real father, and Skjor might love him as a brother but his sympathy was limited.

"Hey," Farkas said in concern, putting his hand to the back of Vilkas' neck to pull his attention from the tree.

"I'm alone. I'll always be alone." His words sounded pathetic even to his drunken ears, and the rational part of him that was observing all this from a distance was screaming at him to _shut up, shut up, you're going to feel like an idiot tomorrow!_ and gods help him he couldn't keep it from coming out.

"I'm right here."

"You are now, but for how long?"

"Forever, okay?" He gave his twin a shake. "Stop being so...there's a word for it. Moody. Gloomy."

"Morose," Vilkas muttered. "I'm being morose."

"Uh huh. C'mon."

He let his bigger twin grab him and steer him towards Jorrvaskr. He had no idea what time it was, but light always burned warmly through the thick ancient windows at all hours. The fire pit never went cold, the mead and ale never went dry, the food was always plentiful and there was always a warm, dry bed waiting. He had never lived on the streets, never had to beg for something to eat, as Lucia had been forced to do. Edric was certainly right about that.

He mumbled, "Did he ever have to beg?"

"Who?"

"Edric." He felt his twin fidget. "He said we were always safe and sheltered, that we never went hungry and always had a roof over our heads. He said there was no way I could understand him." Farkas grunted. "So, did he?"

"No. He said he never went hungry," Farkas said in a lowered, unhappy voice, "but his ma did a lot so that he could eat. She wasn't a whole lot older than Lucia when he was born. He said she was more like a big sister than a mother, but she did her best. She protected him the best she could, but...it was hard a lot of the time. They were really poor, and he got picked on a lot until he learned how to fight. So he spoils her now. She was the reason he joined the Legion, so he could send money back home to take care of her, so she could stop...uh, working."

Vilkas sighed, "I know what his mother was. There is no shame in it." It had kept her child fed and he wasn't about to judge what a young woman had to do to take care of a little one when she was barely more than a child herself. Farkas grunted again. It was clear he didn't want to talk about this. Vilkas ordinarily wouldn't either, but he was drunk, quite drunk indeed.

They went inside the mead hall and it was empty, though he could hear Lucia's voice in the direction of the kitchen, the cadence of it telling him that she was reading out loud. Tilma spoke then, her voice full of approval, though he couldn't make out the words. Maybe she was seeing where the girl's education was at. Tilma had taught Vilkas how to read, and had tried to with Farkas, taught them both their numbers, though Kodlak had taken over Vilkas' education not long after coming to Jorrvaskr. Vilkas had always suspected that the old man had come from a well-educated family, maybe even a family of means, but he had been as reluctant to speak of them as Jergen had been to speak of his own past.

It was good though that Tilma had taken the girl under her wing. Vilkas knew that if his foster mother hadn't that the girl would have been all right, ending up in Honorhall, where she would have been taken care of adequately, but it wasn't the same as the attention Tilma would give.

 _I half-raised myself_ , Edric had said. _I decided to raise myself. Found sympathetic adults and older kids to teach me to read, do math, how to fight_.

Vilkas slurred, "He had to raise himself." He felt Farkas stiffen next to him. "He told me that, on the way to Dustman's Cairn."

"I don't want to talk about it," Farkas muttered.

"He said I couldn't understand him, but maybe...maybe I should try." Maybe if he did things wouldn't be so hard between him and Edric. Maybe. Or maybe he was drunk and when he woke up in the morning he would feel like a fool for saying all this. But it all made perfect sense right now!

"Try doing it when you're sober."

"I can't do it when I'm sober."

Farkas said in a tense tone, "I understand him, and that's all that matters." He shouldered open the door at the bottom of the stairs. "You want to understand him, you just think about being a little kid and knowing you can't really depend on anyone but yourself, or growing up feeling like everyone only wants you for what you look like, or feeling like the weight of the whole world is on your shoulders and people still only want you around for what they can get out of you. His whole life he hasn't had anyone to really take care of him and hardly anyone he could trust."

"He trusts Skjor."

Farkas nodded and relaxed a bit. "Yeah, it's nice. Edie and Kodlak didn't see eye to eye on a lot of stuff, but him and Skjor get each other. Maybe because they were both soldiers for a long time, I don't know. Skjor listens without babying him."

" _You_ baby him," Vilkas stated, his voice oozing much more condemnation than he intended.

"Someone should. Besides, I'm not babying him, I'm taking care of him." He opened Vilkas' door and led him inside. "I don't want to talk about this anymore, Vilkas," he grumbled. "I really don't. Not when you're drunk." He dumped Vilkas on the bed, and not as gently as Vilkas would have liked. "If you really wanted to know any of this you could've just asked. Me or him. But you don't, and if you're asking me now that means you really do want to know and are just too proud to do it otherwise."

Farkas bent down to pull off Vilkas' boots, and he complained in a forlorn tone, "Well who is going to take care of me?"

"What in Oblivion do you think I'm doing right now?"

"I mean…" He huffed, feeling tears coming close again. He shouldn't have drunk so much. It had been stupid of him to do it, but it had sneaked up on him, in his relief to have things better between him and his brother, and in an effort not to think. As if drinking ever helped with that. As if anything did.

Farkas yanked off a boot and made a sound of exasperation. "Don't go giving me any bullshit about being alone. You don't get being alone. You always had me, and Tilma, and Kodlak, and maybe you hated him but you had Pa too. We've always had people around to take care of us, people we trusted, and we still do. If you feel alone now it's your own doing, Vilkas, so don't give me that bullshit, all right? You don't understand what alone means. Neither of us do."

"And Edric does," Vilkas mumbled.

"Yeah, he does, and like I said, I don't want to talk about it." He tossed the other boot aside. "Go to sleep, okay?"

"I'm not tired."

"Then just...lay there and think or whatever." He moved away, and Vilkas caught his arm. "Come on," he sighed. "I don't want to talk about Edie. Not like this."

Vilkas whispered, "I know, just…" _Stay_. He wanted his twin brother to stay, to sleep beside him the way they used to when they were kids, and still had after that when one or the other was sad or just seemed to need it. He pulled on Farkas' sleeve, and his twin looked at him in confusion for a few seconds before his expression turned to something akin to pity. And perhaps that was all it was, but right now that didn't matter.

"Sure, Vilkas."

Farkas lightly shoved his shoulder and Vilkas got under the covers and moved in closer to the wall to lie down, while Farkas closed the door partway to block out some of the light, though the room divider helped. His twin took off his own boots then laid down on top of the covers. Vilkas knew he wouldn't stay, probably wouldn't stay past Vilkas falling asleep, but for now it was good, and when Farkas slid close and enveloped him in a bear hug it was even better. Gods, he loved his brother. He loved Farkas more than he had ever loved anyone, more than he had loved Kodlak, and loved Tilma, and obviously more than he loved Skjor and Aela, though he did love them too.

It wasn't like he didn't know what love was, or that he was loved in turn. He understood that. But he wanted to be loved the way Edric loved Farkas, because as much of a prick as he had been about Edric's motivations he knew that the Dragonborn loved his brother. He had seen the love in those green eyes before they had ever turned silver, before the mating bond had formed. Edric adored Farkas, just as he should, and that was the truth of it.

If only Vilkas could have someone who loved him like that, then maybe things wouldn't be so hard. Maybe he wouldn't be so hard.

And maybe if he had someone like that the frustrated beastblood would overwhelm him, and he would harm her without intending to, or snarl at her, or do any of the mindless things he had done since he had been denying his beast. How could he ever be with a woman for more than a night without throwing everything to Oblivion? Even if he hadn't been refusing the hunt? There was no way he could be in a relationship with anyone who didn't know what he was and couldn't knowingly accept the risk involved, because the risk was very real. Even gentle Farkas had bitten Edric in the heat of the moment, and that was with regular hunts, and with Edric very able to defend himself if things went bad. A regular woman wouldn't stand a chance.

Farkas was right: he wasn't alone. But that didn't stop him from being lonely. Even if he began to hunt again, it wouldn't render him safe to a wife. He wouldn't be able to hide what he was for long.

He heard a snore from his brother then a wolfish growl as Farkas twitched, and for a few seconds he heard their father in the sound. He had never gotten a good night's sleep when the man was around, since Jergen had insisted on both twins sleeping with him when he was home; he'd suffered from typically poor werewolf sleep and had awoken several times a night, every night, and of course he couldn't just go back to sleep, no, he had to pat the bed on either side of him to make sure both boys were there, under his control, right where he wanted them.

And just how had Jergen managed to get a wife, or at least a woman who had stuck around long enough to father children on and raise them for a few years? Vilkas didn't think about his mother often, since he had nothing to go on, but he couldn't help thinking about her now. She had been a Nord, she'd had to be, but the twins didn't have a name for her, didn't know where they had come from, nothing. Had she known what Jergen was? He had been such a cold, harsh man that Vilkas couldn't picture any woman loving him, though maybe he had browbeaten the poor woman so badly that she hadn't had the courage to leave him.

Whatever else he was, Vilkas was not one to mistreat a woman, and the thought of mistreating a wife turned his stomach, nearly as much as the thought of mistreating children. Better to be lonely than risk harming a family. Better to not have a wife and family at all.

But how he wanted that. A cozy home to return to every day, with a wife to kiss hello and children to come running to him, crying "Papa!" and actually glad to see him instead of cringing every time his eyes turned on them. It was a nice thought, and as unlikely to happen as it was for Edric to survive war with the Aldmeri Dominion. Which wasn't a nice thought at all. Not knowing what it would mean for Farkas.

Who was he kidding; it wasn't Farkas who would be left to grieve if that happened, not for long. The thought was self-absorbed, but which thoughts of his weren't anymore? And he was drunk, which made it worse, though the drunkenness was slowly tapering off.

He hadn't realized he had fallen asleep until he awoke with the urgent need to take a piss. Jorrvaskr was silent other than the occasional creak of the ancient building.

He rolled over and Farkas wasn't there and the spot where he had been was cold. He hadn't expected his brother to stay, but it still hurt. Of course Farkas would want to be in his own room, in the bed that smelled like his mate. His husband. Vilkas would want that too, if he had someone like that. But he didn't. He couldn't.

Vilkas sat up and realized his head was throbbing. Lovely. Hungover and morose, and alone. Well it wasn't the first time he had woken up in such a state, and he was old enough that it should have been his last, though he doubted it would be. He was stone cold sober and every pathetic word he had said to his twin came back to him in appalling clarity. Farkas would never throw it back at him, not in a million years, and it wasn't as if he hadn't meant every word of it, it was just...

Maybe those things had needed to be said. Stored away, so that Farkas could remember them the next time Vilkas started to lose it. Because he would.

No, he wouldn't regret last night, no matter how his head was beginning to feel like it was splitting or how dry his mouth was. His pride was a little wounded, but that was part of the problem. His damn pride. His strong will, or pig-headedness as Tilma often called it. He couldn't accept how much of his misery was his own fault, and Edric was the convenient scapegoat for all of it.

Vilkas could only wish that thought would stay with him the next time he started to lose it. Because he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of sad, self-absorbed Vilkas in this chapter. But at least he's moving in the right direction, a little at a time.


	43. Chapter 43

**Farkas**

He wasn't sure what had awakened him until he felt the blankets lifting up with a draft of cool air, then a weight on the bed, and a few seconds later he smelled a comforting mix of soap and his husband. He stirred and a hand felt for him before a nude body slid up close.

"Hey love," Edric whispered.

"You're home," Farkas mumbled happily, still half asleep.

"Aye."

Farkas felt himself waking, and he rolled onto his side and took his man into his arms and kissed him, though he missed at first in the dark and his lips landed on Edric's nose. His mate laughed and put an arm over him and held him tightly, twinges of happiness and affection coming from him. Feeling all that skin made some parts really start waking up.

Edric laughed again as Farkas rubbed against him, but the laugh was a tired one. "Can we save it until morning,  _miingi_? I'm exhausted. It's two or three in the morning."

Worried, Farkas asked, "Why? Where's Skjor?" He'd thought it wasn't any later than maybe ten and he'd just fallen asleep.

"Back at Riverwood." He slid down to tuck his head under Farkas' chin, his hair still damp. "I missed you," he mumbled, and he kissed Farkas' neck before he nuzzled into the bigger man's chest and breathed deep. "I couldn't stand knowing you were so close, so I told Skjor I was heading back. I took Arvak to let my horse rest. The living horse, I mean." He chuckled. "Might've alarmed the guards a bit when I rode all the way up to the gates."

"Good." He hoped one of them was the asshole who had tattled about Edric touching the Gildergreen. Farkas still hadn't figured out which guard it was. Maybe the guy had asked to get reassigned to patrolling the roads just to stay out of Farkas' way.

Why had Skjor and Edric been in Riverwood though? It was hardly on the way home from Rorikstead.

Edric sighed, "Aaaand...I didn't want to sleep under the same roof as Hadvar. We had words again and I was too riled to sleep anyway. So I came home."

"I don't like you traveling alone," he muttered. And of course Edric had had words with Hadvar. Neither man could back down gracefully and still seemed to have a bone to pick with each other, though what Hadvar could've done to earn Edric's resentment was hard to figure out. There was the whole Helgen thing, but Farkas didn't think that was the bulk of the reason. He was pretty sure that a lot of it was exactly what Edric had said a while ago: every time the Dragonborn looked at Hadvar, he thought about Ralof being dead when Hadvar wasn't. And Hadvar and Ralof had grown up together, which Edric probably thought about too. And Hadvar reminded Edric of his time in the Legion.

Still, none of that was Hadvar's fault. Hadvar had plenty of reason to hate the Dragonborn, a lot of people did, but Farkas still couldn't quite figure out why Edric didn't just leave the man alone. Maybe it was because he couldn't figure out why Hadvar was here in Skyrim and not with the Legion. If there was one thing Edric couldn't stand it was not knowing something. He was way too much like Vilkas that way.

"Not too many people stupid or crazy enough to attack someone riding a flaming horse in the middle of the night."

Farkas had to laugh a bit at that. He could just picture it. "Yeah, I guess so." He kissed the top of his husband's head. "I'm glad you're here."

"Me too. I just wanted to be home."

"Yeah," he whispered. The twinges of relief he felt from Edric were tangled up with bits of his own dread. How was his man going to manage being away for maybe years if just the last eight days had been so hard for both of them? How were either of them going to manage? Farkas at least would have the comfort of being here, at home, but Edric would be far, far away in the south. Cyrodiil, or maybe other places. Edric at least knew Cyrodiil, since he had spent most of his career in the Legion there, but it wasn't the same as being home.

Home. It still made him surprised and happy to hear his mate say that word and to know what it meant.

He kissed Edric's hair again and said, "Roll over and I'll rub your back." The other man didn't hesitate, rolling over onto his pillow, face down. Farkas laid a hand between his shoulders and asked, "Everything feeling okay?"

"Aye, fine," Edric mumbled into the pillow. "Just pulled that wound a bit when I was swinging Stormfang around."

Farkas grumbled, "It felt like more than a bit."

"Didn't bleed really, and it's all healed up now," he said sleepily. "Skjor made me hang back after that for a few days. Bow and magic. No…" He yawned. "No problem."

The Companion grunted and let the matter go. He hadn't felt much in the way of pain since then, and that had been five days ago. Edric might brush things off but he never lied, so if he thought he was fine then he probably was, though to be honest he had said he was fine when he headed out with the Harbinger, and he clearly hadn't been fine if fighting had aggravated the wound. Which had probably been aggravated before that in Morthal with all the sex they'd had.

It took less than two minutes before his mate was snoring in exhaustion, and he eased his hand away then slid up close enough to smell Edric without disturbing him. By the Nine, it was good to have him here, where he was safe, and the thought that he had ridden for hours to get home to Farkas made the bigger man let out a quiet gurgle, so touched he could hardly stand it.

He lay there breathing in his man's scent, wide awake, and carefully reached out to find a damp strand of hair and rub it between his fingers. Edric had taken the time to strip off his armor and bathe before coming to bed. He knew it had been more for Edric's sake than his own. The beast in him sort of liked it when his man hadn't bathed in a few days. It wasn't anything he was proud of, but he wasn't ashamed of it either. He was at peace with himself, unlike his brother. He didn't view the wolf in him as a separate thing, and he hoped Edric was getting there too. Maybe this trip with Skjor had helped with some things. The Dragonborn seemed to respond to the older man in ways he hadn't to his own father.

He had to wonder though, and worry, about what Edric and Hadvar had said to each other, because of course the two men couldn't lay eyes on each other and just keep their mouths shut. It wasn't in either of their natures, though it was surprising with Hadvar, from what Edric had said of him before seeing him again. Edric had said that at Helgen the other Legionnaire looked as if whatever spirit he'd had was broken by what he'd experienced in the Legion. It was pretty obvious Hadvar had found it again somewhere along the way, maybe along with that nasty scar that looked like a healed head wound to Farkas' experienced eyes.

And he also had to worry about how it had affected Edric to go to Riverwood again, barely a week after the last time. Farkas hadn't felt anything from his husband, but maybe they hadn't reached town until after Farkas was asleep so he hadn't felt anything. Maybe. Was that how it worked? Maybe he really did need to talk to Aela about this. About the bond. Maybe both he and Edric should, just as Vilkas had suggested. It wasn't like Vilkas' suggestions were always bad. When Vilkas was calm and rational, his suggestions were usually pretty good.

It took him some time to fall back asleep, with the foolish fear that maybe he wasn't all the way awake and come morning he'd find that Edric wasn't really there after all.

But there he was several hours later, when the sound of Vilkas complaining woke Farkas. Edric was still sleeping deeply, and there was going to be hell to pay if anyone messed that up.

Farkas slid out of bed and quietly eased open the door and went into the hallway, where he saw his brother eyeing the pile of Edric's armor and gear with a sneer on his face. Aela was there, still in the short, thin cotton shift she slept in, long white legs bare and red hair in disarray, looking two seconds away from punching Vilkas.

"So this is what it's come to, simply dumping everything on the floor for Tilma to deal with?" Vilkas groused. "It isn't her responsibility!"

Farkas closed the door and muttered, "Keep your voice down, dammit. You'll wake him up."

Vilkas rolled his eyes. "Oh, Dibella forbid the little darling is deprived of his beauty sleep."

So it was starting already. It would've made a lump rise in Farkas' throat if his temper wasn't rising a lot faster, fed by the need for a long-overdue hunt. Things had been so good this last week between the two of them. He'd known it wouldn't last, couldn't last, he always did, but that never stopped it from hurting. "He got home in the middle of the night," he growled. "He was trying not to wake me up."

"So instead he fouls up the hall with his reeking pile of-"

Aela's hand shot out before Farkas went after his brother, slapping Vilkas in the chest. "Cut it," she warned. Vilkas sucked in a breath to continue and she turned to put herself in front of him, lowering her voice further. "This has shit to do with you," she stated in a voice that should've scared Vilkas. And maybe it did, when his lips pursed and he looked away from her. "Edric's been on the road for three weeks straight. He's exhausted. I'm certain that he doesn't expect Tilma to tend to his gear and armor." She turned her head slightly towards her shoulder. "He got back how many hours ago?"

"Maybe four," Farkas answered, and he looked over Aela's head at his brother as he added with narrowed eyes, "and anyone wakes him up and they're gonna get my fist. Maybe both fists."

"So where's Skjor?"

"He left him in Riverwood." He spoke to Vilkas again over Aela's head. "He just wanted to come home. He rode all night to get home and you're gonna stay away from him today."

Vilkas mumbled, "And away from you too, I suppose."

That drained the anger out of him, seeing the hurt on his twin's face. "You know you two can't be around each other," he said with sympathy. He didn't know what else to say. He had to be with Edric today. He  _had_ to. He'd spent most of the last week with his brother, had even taken a quick two-day job with him just to get him out of the city and keep him from getting rusty, and to keep his own mind off Edric. That last part hadn't been too successful. But they couldn't spend every minute of every day together, no matter how lonely Vilkas got, and the sad truth of it was that Vilkas was lonely because no one else wanted to be around him anymore.

And...and it was their birthday tomorrow. How had he not really thought about that until now?

Aela asked, "Did they find Mralki's son?"

"Don't know. He passed out right after his head hit the pillow. Skjor'll be back by lunchtime, and Edie might be up by then."

Vilkas grumbled, "Why in Oblivion did he ride half the night to get back only to sleep the day away?"

Farkas sighed, "C'mon, I don't want to have to explain it. He's here and that's what matters." Mates slept better together, and that was that. They'd felt each other's worry the whole time and how much they missed each other, and once Edric got back it was all better. Simple, but nothing he felt like talking to his brother about.

Vilkas waved him off, and with a glare at Aela he wandered down the hall, maybe to go upstairs.

The Huntress grunted at her pack brother's retreating back then turned to Farkas, asking, "So he seemed all right?"

Farkas shrugged and nodded. "Sure, for what I was able to get out of him." He looked at the armor and bags, with the two-handed lightning sword and the enchanted dwarven bow Zephyr sitting on top. It looked like more stuff than Edric had left with, and a lot to carry up from the gates. Maybe it had been a profitable trip. Or maybe Edric had talked Skjor into stopping by one of his caches. He'd find out once his mate woke up.

It took all his willpower to leave Edric alone and go upstairs for breakfast. Tilma and Lucia were setting out platters of food that Vilkas was helping himself to with a sour expression, while Meeko begged and made a pest of himself. Farkas called him away and ordered him to behave and the dog did what he was told, going back to sit by the fire, where Farkas saw with annoyance an empty bowl that clearly hadn't been empty a few minutes ago.

"Oh, let him be," Tilma chided with a smile. "He's a good boy. Woke me up when your man came home. And just what was he doing sneaking into the hall in the middle of the night like that? Just about scared me and the little one to death."

As he loaded a plate next to Vilkas he explained, "Homesick, that's all." His brother grumbled under his breath and Farkas ignored it, because that was all he could do. He could just imagine what the sound meant: this wasn't Edric's home. Well just because it had been everyone else's home for longer didn't mean it wasn't Edric's too. Where else could Edric call home? He'd never really had one before this.

"Isn't that sweet," she cooed. "Well no harm done, I suppose. I just hope he doesn't make a habit of it."

Vilkas muttered, "And what if the dog wasn't here? I tell you, we need to start locking the doors at night. Anyone looking for trouble could come in here and we'd be none the wiser."

The old woman gaped at him. "We've never locked the doors! Half a century I've been in this hall and not  _once_ have we locked them. Goodness sakes, do we even still have the keys?" Vilkas scowled at his breakfast and let the matter go.

Farkas was surprised to hear Vilkas basically admit that he was glad that Meeko was here, though his twin mostly ignored the dog and didn't seem to mind him for the most part now that he didn't stink. Farkas loved having the dog here, even if he was a pain in the ass sometimes, and no one else seemed to mind.

Once he was done eating he headed downstairs and busied himself sorting out the pile of gear outside their door to pass the time while he waited, being sure to not make much noise.

He was glad to see Edric's armor was still in good shape, with just a few splatters of blood that had been missed during routine cleaning on the road, and none of it the Dragonborn's. Edric was used to caring for his own armor, and it was easy to forget that he was an expert smith, a skill he had picked up during his decade in the Legion. They hadn't talked about it much, but Farkas had the feeling that his man wasn't a  _smith_ smith the way Eorlund was. Old Greymane could forge a complete set of armor from ingots, or weapons from the same. Most blacksmiths could do armor, or weapons, but usually not both very well, or they were farriers or made nails and fittings and the like. From how Edric had talked, Farkas thought maybe his skills ran more along the lines of improving or altering existing arms and armor, as he had done with the ebony set he had stowed away in Breezehome. Which Farkas still hadn't seen the inside of. Maybe they could go see it today after Edric woke up.

He stacked the armor neatly to one side, along with the weapons and a quiver of dwemer arrows. The arming doublet and pants that went under the armor were dirty, and pretty smelly, even with the underlayers that they wore when the weather was colder. It was a good kind of smelly though, a musky mix of man and wolf, with dusty spicy dragon underneath. No one was around so he brought the doublet to his nose and took a deep breath. It was all he could do not to rub his cheeks against it, but he hardly needed to go around smelling like he had been on the road for weeks, and Edric wouldn't appreciate it either, as fussy as he was. Not as fussy as he used to be, though, and it wasn't like Farkas minded either way.

The dirty clothes were sorted into their own pile to be put into the laundry basket, and to be fair to Vilkas they were pretty stinky. His twin had always been more sensitive to smell than he was. There were bandages here too, a tundra cotton pad with a few spots of blood, Edric's blood, and linen wraps, but it was just the one. It still was upsetting to see, though. He wished his man would wake up so he could take a look at the wound and make sure it was healed all the way. With any luck Edric wouldn't need to go out again anytime soon. Farkas and the rest of the Circle would, but not Edric.

Edric's main pack didn't feel any heavier than it usually did, and Farkas respected his husband's privacy and didn't go through it. Edric had packed it in front of him so he knew it was full of dried food, money, a teeth-cleaning kit, a mending kit, soap, his precious map in its case, a soft drying leather, the walnut box with his comb and broken mirror, and all the other small things one needed on the road. His bedroll and tent were also here.

There was one extra bag, a heavy one, and when Farkas peeked inside he saw it was full of books. There had to be at least seven or eight books there, some of them pretty thick and a couple of them old and worn. He couldn't tell if any of them were magical or not, the titles a jumble to his eyes as they always were, but none of them looked as if they had any mysterious symbols or anything on them.

He heard his twin's walk, Vilkas' feet bare, and as he looked up at him he saw his brother's expression shift quickly, from annoyance to surprise to longing as his eyes landed on the books. Then it shifted again, as if he was trying to pretend he wasn't interested, then he gave up trying.

"Lot of 'em here," Farkas murmured, holding one up. He frowned a bit and added, "I wish I could read them, but… Eh, I guess you know." Vilkas had often read to him when they were growing up, and after that too, but it had been a while. Farkas didn't often grieve that he couldn't read, and to be fair hardly anyone had ever given him trouble over it. It wasn't that he couldn't read because he was stupid. Not that he was. He couldn't even think that without worrying Edric would find out and get upset.

No, he wasn't a quick thinker, but he wasn't dumb, and it wasn't his fault that his eyes mixed up the letters and couldn't make sense of most words. Jergen hadn't read well either, but Farkas didn't know if it was a lack of education or the same problem. He never would know, now that everyone who had known his father was gone. There were old folks in town who had known Jergen, but they hadn't known him. Jergen wouldn't have allowed that. The old Companions would've been the only ones his father would've let in if only a little, and they were all dead. Vignar and Skjor hadn't come to Jorrvaskr, or come back in Vignar's case, until after the war.

"Aye," Vilkas mumbled.

"C'mere." Farkas motioned him over, and Vilkas stood there for several seconds, looking like he was struggling with himself, then came over and stiffly lowered himself to the floor. "Tell me what these are." Vilkas wouldn't take the offered book, and Farkas softly stated, "He won't make a big deal out of this. I won't let him." Even if Edric came out right now, he knew he could keep his mate from fussing over it. Farkas was one of the few people Edric really listened to and minded. Well, not minded. That sounded bad, even in his own head.

Vilkas took the book, old and battered, bound in burgundy leather, and carefully opened the cover. " _Fall of the Snow Prince_ ," he whispered. "'An account of the Battle of the Moesring as transcribed by Lokheim, chronicler to the chieftain Ingjaldr White-Eye.'"

"Huh. Never heard of it." Not that he had much interest in battles, or history. Not like his mate and brother did, though Vilkas cared more about history than reading about battles.

"Neither have I. The book, I mean. The Moesring Mountains are on Solstheim. The battle was supposedly where the armies of Ysgramor finally routed the armies of the Snow Elves." Vilkas snorted. "Snow elves. As if anyone would believe such a thing."

"But there are snow elves," Farkas said in a patient tone. "Edie met a couple. He says the Falmer are snow elves, but the two he met weren't all...changed, like the Falmer. Not sure how it happened. Edie said it had something to do with the Dwemer." Vilkas closed the book, blinking, a weird look on his face. "It's true," Farkas insisted. "One was a priest of Akatosh, or Ariel or whatever the elves call him. Edie said his skin and hair and eyes were white as snow. Edie said he had to be over four thousand years old. He had a bow that he says was used to shoot Shor's heart into the sea and it made Red Mountain. He tried to give it to Edie and he wouldn't take it. Said it wasn't his to take."

His brother gripped the book in his hands, his knuckles white, then he set the book aside and held out his hand for the next one, his expression tight. Farkas sighed and fished out another and handed it over. " _Of Fjori and Holgeir_ ," Vilkas muttered. "We have a copy here. I've read it a thousand times."

"Well it's not like every book he has is going to be a rare treasure," Farkas said in annoyance.

"I know that." He set it aside and took the next one. " _On Stepping Lightly_. Never heard of this one either." He drew in a slow breath then let it out just as slowly, looking like he was in pain.

Farkas sighed, "He would let you read them. You just have to ask."

"Right," Vilkas scoffed, though he looked hurt more than angry.

"Then I'll ask for you. I don't mind."

Vilkas shook his head and set the book down then climbed to his feet and went to his room.

Farkas' mouth twisted as he tried not to get angry with his brother, tried to be understanding. It was hard. Really damn hard, especially since he hadn't hunted in over two weeks. There was no reason at all other than Vilkas' pride to not take the offer. Maybe there was fear in there too, fear of Edric mocking him, though Farkas didn't think he would. Not out loud anyway. Edric would let Vilkas read the books, he was sure of it, and if Farkas asked him not to he wouldn't poke and jab at Vilkas over it.

It was sad though, that the two of them disliked each other so much. Farkas wanted them to be friends, as much as Kodlak had wanted it. The two of them were so similar in so many ways, and they were both smart. They'd have so much to talk about, if Vilkas could just get his head out of his ass, but even if Vilkas did get cured and started behaving himself again there was so much damage there that Farkas didn't think they'd ever learn to get along. Edric had tried too many times, for Farkas' and Kodlak's sakes, and had gotten burned. Edric wouldn't be the one to try again, and he didn't think Vilkas ever could, even if he was cured.

He took the rest of the books out of the bag and stacked them neatly by the door. He had mostly wanted to know the titles just as an offering to Vilkas. He hadn't figured on his brother getting upset about it, though in hindsight he probably should have.

It didn't take long to get the rest of Edric's things sorted out. Meeko came downstairs to sniff at everything, but he wasn't obnoxious about it and didn't try to drag anything off or roll in it, so Farkas let him be while he got up and sat on the bench between the rooms.

As the dog settled next to him to be petted, Farkas felt that certain something that told him Edric was waking up. He smiled and let it warm him. He couldn't really describe what the feeling was, or how he knew, but that thread that was always between them was  _more_ when Edric was awake. It was much too soon for his man to get up, with maybe five hours of sleep altogether, but it wasn't like Edric couldn't go back to sleep if he wanted.

He waited, wanting to see his husband but not wanting to be selfish, and it was decided for him when the door opened. Meeko jumped up and wiggled his way to Edric like a puppy, his hind end shaking and tail wagging, and the Dragonborn made a sleepy sound of pleasure.

"Hey there, boy," he murmured, kneeling down to ruffle Meeko's fur, wearing only a pair of pants. "Someone smells better!" He then caught sight of Farkas and his smile broadened to a blindingly beautiful grin as a swell of love and relief came from him. "Hey there, boy," he repeated in a warm tone, giving Farkas a wink.

He laughed, the sound coming out as something too close to a giggle. Edric stood and came to him, and Farkas tugged him between his legs and held him close. "I really missed you," he mumbled into Edric's chest hair. "A lot."

"Ah  _miingi_ , I missed you too. So much." He nuzzled Farkas' hair then let out a laugh. "So much that I came home, apparently."

_Home_. He never got tired of hearing that. "I'm glad you did. You didn't get enough sleep though."

"Eh, I'm fine. Better, now that I'm here." He kissed Farkas' head then ran fingers through his dark hair. "Everything good while I was gone? It ah...felt all right? Mostly? I think?"

"Yeah, everything was fine. Spent some good time with Vilkas."

"Mm-hm. Did you guys get money out of the girl's uncle?"

"Yeah," Farkas muttered in annoyance. "The farm's hers. The aunt's pregnant. Pretty easy to guess they wanted her out of the way. Lucia, I mean."

Edric said in confusion, "She's what, eleven or twelve? She can talk."

"That's what I said." He kissed his husband's chest. "You hungry?" That was more important than fooling around. Edric was still leaner than he should be.

"Yeah, I could eat." He kissed Farkas' dark head again but didn't seem inclined to move. Meeko hopped up and danced around them, and Edric chuckled. "He's awfully happy this morning."

"He's glad you're home too." He grunted then as he remembered the wound. He pushed his man out at arm's length to get a closer look at it. Meeko tried to push between them and Farkas growled in annoyance, making the dog lower its ears and behave itself. He ran his hand over his mate's left side, seeing a pretty ugly scar there, only a couple inches long but a bit lumpy. While the scar was pink it was obvious that it was completely healed. He clucked his tongue and shook his head. "I wish you would've let me stitch it." It would've healed more cleanly than it had, and maybe not have pulled open. That surely had to have made the scarring worse.

Edric shuddered. "Ugh, no."

Farkas let it go, though it confused him. He didn't understand why Edric found the idea of getting stitched so awful. It wasn't as if he hadn't put up with it well enough when Vilkas hurt his leg, or so Farkas imagined. He looked up at his man and Edric smiled, but it wasn't as happy a smile as he'd given a minute ago. Farkas gently prodded the wound and asked, "You're sure it's all better?"

"Yes, love," he said in a patient tone. "I heal fast. Always have." He kissed Farkas' forehead then took his hand and pulled on it. "Hungry."

"Okay."

They walked hand-in-hand down the hall, the dog running circles around them, which was kind of annoying but at least he wasn't tripping them. "Hey, did you find the innkeeper's son?" That had been the main point of Edric and Skjor leaving so fast.

Edric blew out a breath and nodded. "Aye, we found him, in Serpent's Bluff Redoubt. Alive, too, the damn stupid kid."

That was surprising. He had agreed with Vilkas and Skjor that Erik was probably dead. "Damn lucky kid."

Edric made an odd sound. "I suppose. The Hagraven there had him. He wouldn't say what she did to him, and we weren't going to push."

"Shit," Farkas breathed. There wasn't much he was scared of. Frostbite spiders gave him the willies, and he was pretty sure facing a dragon would be pretty intimidating, as much as it sounded exciting, but there was just something about hagravens that made his skin crawl. They made that horrid, wheezy sound when they breathed, and they smelled horrible, like dusty rancid bird and unwashed old person, and their dens smelled even worse.

"Aye. It wasn't good. Not good at all. He wasn't beat up too bad, physically. Got that all healed up. But there's everything you  _can't_ see, you know?"

He whispered with a nod, "Yeah."

"I did my best not to look too closely, and...I'm not the best at being comforting. I fix situations. I can't fix people." He shrugged. "Still, he's a tough kid. Just got in over his head. Couldn't convince him to go back home, though. Followed me and Skjor like a baby bird that imprinted on us. Got to give him credit for guts."

"Where is he now?"

"In Riverwood with Skjor, still wearing his da's iron armor and not taking no for an answer." Edric shrugged again as they went upstairs. "I don't know, I like him, even if he is a pain in the ass and should've listened to me. We gave him lessons on the road, let him watch our gear and horses while we were down in the mine, and wouldn't you know he wanted to go down there with us. I told him if he followed us in I was going to take him straight home and make sure he stayed there this time. We were on Companion business. He's not a Companion. Skjor asked him if he might consider joining, and he said no, that he wants to be his own man." Edric shrugged again. "Not like I don't get what he's saying. His da's kept too short a leash on him most of his life, afraid of losing him. Ended up losing him anyway."

"He might change his mind and go back."

"Yeah, he might, but I told him to come to Whiterun anyway. If he wants to be an adventurer so bad, I'm going to make sure he does it right. I agreed to train him in exchange for staying in Breezehome and guarding my things." He chuckled. "Light housecarling, Skjor called it. Maybe he'll read a book or two in the meantime and come to his senses."

Books. Farkas brought them to a stop before they reached the tables, which were empty, though he could hear Tilma and Lucia talking in the kitchen. The dog did what he always did and took a spot by the fire pit. "You brought home a lot of books." He didn't care what Vilkas said, he was going to ask if his brother could read them. Maybe Vilkas was too proud to do it, but if he knew he had permission it might help ease the tension between him and Edric. It sure couldn't hurt. Hopefully.

"I had a cache in the area, a pretty big one. Old underground vampire lair in the hills west of Rorikstead. Cleaned it out and brought it here on Arvak and put it in Breezehome, except for the books. I haven't read some of them yet, or only read them once." He lifted a hand and rubbed Farkas' chin with his thumb, his expression going soft. "Been thinking, if you don't mind...I could read to you."

Farkas whispered, "Yeah, I'd like that. A lot." He huffed and grabbed his mate close in a bear hug. Mara's mercy, he loved this man. He loved him more than anything. He felt an answering surge of affection as Edric's arms tightened, then whispers of worry. Well he was a little worried too, and he was pretty sure why Edric was. "What are we gonna do when you leave next year?" he asked. He could hear the near whine in his voice.

"I don't know." He squeezed, making Farkas grunt. "I missed you so much. The nights were the worst."

"Yeah." It was one thing to go about your day, when you had stuff to do to keep you busy and your mind occupied, but lying there in bed at night alone had been awful.

"Maybe we should have a talk with Aela," Edric suggested, his tone showing just how much he really didn't want to do that.

"Maybe." Farkas wasn't about to tell his man that Vilkas had suggested the same thing. He knew better. If anyone would know about the bond, Aela would.

His mate lowered his voice further. "Think she'd want to hunt with us tonight?"

"She might." His hand slid up Edric's bare back to his neck. "And there's that thing. That happened. Might be good to have the others with us." He felt his man shudder, suddenly full of fear and self-loathing. "Uh-uh. Not your fault."

Edric whispered, "I know it wasn't, but...everyone can tell me a thousand times that it wasn't and I'll still hate myself for it. He wasn't a bandit. What if he had a family? What if-"

Farkas gave him a shake, cutting him off. "No what ifs. If it was anyone's fault it was  _his_. You know who's."

"But it could happen again!" He was throwing off spikes of anxiety, and Farkas growled and pushed him out to look him in the face.

"It's  _his_ fault, not yours. I don't know what the point was of making you do that, and I don't care-"

"His point was that he owns me. What else would it be?" Farkas glowered at him, and he said in anguish, "I know I signed up for that. It's not like I don't know that. But fuck if I'll bend knee to him. I know that's what he wants. He wants me to  _serve_. I won't do it!"

"Then don't. Get angry and stay angry." Edric blinked up at him, silver eyes big and owlish and shiny. Well Farkas meant it. He knew his man, and he felt like he had a pretty good handle on how his man operated and how his mind worked, within the limits of his own. Edric might be good at mulling things over and coolly calculating things out, but when he got angry it spurred him into action in other ways. If the Dragonborn was angry enough, driven enough, he could do what might seem impossible. "Did you talk to Skjor about it?"

"Aye," he muttered. "He told me what you did: it wasn't my fault. Said it happens to everyone, and so on and so on." He huffed in anguish. "I can't even pay blood price to the man's kin without exposing us."

Farkas didn't answer, because he didn't have an answer. There wasn't any way to make things right, and maybe blood price was custom but it didn't bring back a lost life.

Edric lowered his eyes to Farkas' throat as he continued, "Knowing a thing and feeling it are different. I know I couldn't help it, but I feel like shit about it. Talking to Skjor helped, as I knew it would, but...I carry things with me, you know? I can just not think about a lot of it, a good part of the time, but with other things it's not so easy." His mouth twisted. "I  _am_ angry, Farkas. And maybe I don't know what to do about it yet, but yeah, I'm angry with him. He already has me. He doesn't need to teach me a lesson or prove anything to me."

"I thought I heard you two out here." Both men looked up at the sound of Tilma's voice. The old woman smiled at them from the kitchen doorway, eyes crinkling, and motioned them towards her. "Come along then," she ordered. "Edric hasn't eaten yet, I reckon. I'll fix a plate and some of that tea you brought home."

Farkas took his husband's hand and led him to the kitchen, and when Meeko moved to follow them he ordered the dog to stay put. It was one thing to have an animal in the hall, but it was kind of gross to let the dog into the kitchen. Tilma pointed them to the stools at the work table and with brisk efficiency set the tea to steeping while she fixed Edric some breakfast.

"Where's the girl?" Edric asked in a lowered voice.

"Down at the market," she answered, "visiting her friend. I had her take some food to Brenuin. Who knows, maybe eating more will help him drink less? He's not a bad sort. Just fallen on hard times."

Farkas nearly said something about those hard times having lasted for close a decade now, but Edric's grunt next to him made him hold his tongue. Maybe Brenuin's drinking wasn't any more the beggar's fault than Edric's had been. The situation wasn't the same, though he didn't know the Redguard's past. He'd just shown up in Whiterun one day a while back looking for work and had gone on a steady downward slide since. He wasn't a young man either, older than Farkas and Vilkas. One winter they were going to find the guy frozen to death on the streets and that would be the end of him. Danica let him sleep in the temple when it was especially cold, but Brenuin didn't always choose to take her up on it.

The old woman smiled at Farkas and said, "I'm making an extra special breakfast tomorrow for you boys, just like I always do. Smoked salmon and cheesy scrambled eggs with those herb roasted red potatoes you two like so much. Oh, and snowberry crostata. Can't remember the last time I made it, but I wanted to teach Lucia the recipe. Girl's been writing it all down, smart little lass, but you know I just throw things together. Always have."

She set a plate in front of Edric, who immediately dug in, and they sat there listening to Tilma chatter on while she puttered about the kitchen. It was soothing, being in there where it was warm and always smelled so good, with Farkas' man home safe. He felt a poignant twinge from Edric and they leaned against each other. It probably felt nice to Edric too, being cared for by Tilma, who was old enough to be the Dragonborn's grandmother.

"Oh!" Tilma exclaimed, shaking her index finger to herself. "Eorlund wanted to talk to you," she said to Edric. "Something about the Skyforge."

The young man nodded. "Aye, I'll go up a bit later," he replied. "Have some things I'd like to show him. Dragon scales and bones. Got them coming out my ears, you know?"

She chuckled. "Oh, I'm certain you do."

After he was done eating, Edric refused to let Tilma take his plate and mug, instead taking them to the basin himself and washing them, making her fuss in a good-natured way. Farkas watched with warmth settling in his chest as his husband flirted with the old woman, making her laugh like a young maiden. She didn't blush easily, after fifty-some years living in Jorrvaskr around rough warriors, but Edric's attentions clearly delighted her. It was kinda funny, really, how charming Edric could be with Tilma, or Ria, when he didn't bother with anyone else. Well, he did with Farkas sometimes, and it wasn't like he couldn't be charming when he really tried, but with everyone else he just didn't seem to want to go to the effort. And maybe flirting with women was safer, who knew.

They headed back to their room, and as they went down the stairs Edric murmured, "So. It's your birthday tomorrow, love."

"Yeah." Forty-two. He tried not to think about how much older he was than his beloved. It wasn't like he was a cradle robber or anything, but it still wasn't comfortable to think about too hard. It was sweet though, that Edric remembered the date, when they hadn't talked about it in months.

"Both of you."

"Yeah?" he repeated, his tone cautious. He and Vilkas had always spent every birthday together. Always, their whole lives. They'd managed to never take jobs around that time, to make sure that they would be able to be together on that day. But...Edric was here.

"I've got things I can do during the day. Reports to Vignar, courtly duties. Getting Erik settled. Selling off some stuff, taking care of some errands. Tilma has breakfast covered, but I thought maybe we could have dinner together tomorrow night."

"Okay." So Edric understood that he'd want to spend the day with his brother. Or would if he didn't want to spend it with his husband too. And maybe Edric knew that it was a hard choice to make and was making it for him. Farkas wasn't sure he could choose, otherwise. Edric would be gone all too soon and every day with him was precious, but he had never missed spending his birthday with his twin in forty-some years.

"I thought we could have it in Breezehome. I'll cook, or try to. We could spend the night there, just you and me, before you four head out again after the Hand."

Farkas murmured, "I'd love that, honey. I really would." Mara's mercy, the two of them having dinner in the house, a dinner his husband would be cooking, like a real married couple... Well of course they were a real couple; they were moon-wed. It was enough to make him feel all gooey inside.

Edric chuckled and bumped into him as they walked. "Got a nice surprise for you. Or...at least I think it will be nice."

There was more uncertainty in his lover's voice than Farkas was used to hearing. "I'll love whatever it is," he said with confidence. "I know I will." A surprise from Edric. It sounded great, because it pretty much had to be.

As they returned to their short section of hallway, Edric stopped to look at his tidied-up things for a moment then smiled gratefully at Farkas before bending down to gather up the books. "We need to get a bookshelf for our room," he mentioned. "Breezehome has a few, but I don't exactly want to run down there every time I want to read. I'll have to see if anyone has one for sale."

Farkas squatted down to help him, piling several into his left arm. "Yeah, about the books…" Edric nodded distractedly, and he went on, "Vilkas was bored and I let him read your red book. I hope that was okay." He watched his husband and saw only the tiniest twitch in his expression. Of course Edric didn't really want Vilkas reading his books, but it didn't seem like he considered it a big deal either. He quickly added, "He really liked it, a lot. It was the night you left. He helped me wash the dog, and we sat and I carved while he read. In our room. It was...nice, being like-" Edric put a hand on his arm, stopping his rambling. He looked tired, or...something. His expression wasn't quite a frown, wasn't angry at all, and why would he be? Farkas hadn't thought he would be.

"Love, it's fine," his mate quietly stated. He met Farkas' eyes then cupped his cheek, rubbing his thumb along the bigger man's cheekbone. "It's  _fine_ ," he repeated. "He can read the books if he wants, I don't care. I haven't read some of these yet, but as long as he doesn't damage them or take them anywhere I don't care. Who knows, maybe they'll broaden his horizons. Expand his view of things."

"Oh. Good." That was a relief.

"The only one off limits is my journal," Edric said, his tone firmer. "It has a lot of very...personal things in it. Things about Ralof, about my mother. About me. I switched to Dovahzul, or the script anyway, once I learned it, so he won't be able to read it from that point anyway, but up to that…" He nibbled at his bottom lip, letting his touch trail down to Farkas' beard. "I'd let you read it, if you could, but I don't think I could read it out loud. Not sure I ever will be able."

"I'd never ask." He could see why it would hurt, and saying things out loud was a whole hell of a lot different than letting someone else read those words.

"I know." Edric gave him a brief, tight smile, touched with sadness, then he leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. "What's mine is yours, Farkas. Everything in this room is  _ours_."

Farkas didn't know how to respond to that, his chest swelling with love for this man.  _What's mine is yours._  Theirs. Together.

Edric sighed and there was an answering surge of emotion, and he kissed Farkas again then climbed to his feet, his left knee making a creaking, crackling sound, his motions stiff. There wasn't any sensation of pain from his mate, so Farkas ignored it, and really, even if it had hurt there wasn't anything he could do about it. Edric was too young to already be having physical problems, but even with the healer he had seen earlier this year his body had taken more of a beating than anyone else Farkas knew. Even with regular magical healing, a lot of warriors ended up with arthritis, from frequent injuries and the stress of wearing heavy armor and swinging a weapon for decades. Edric had all that  _and_ the damage he had taken from Alduin, plus the extra wear and tear of fighting regular dragons and adventuring. Even as old as he was, Farkas was still in great shape. Edric was too, but Farkas feared that the life his husband had lived would start taking a real toll before too much longer. At least there wouldn't be a drinking problem added to it.

"Come down to Breezehome with me?" Edric asked. "I'd like to show it to you."

"Sure, honey." What he really wanted was to get back in bed and cuddle and fool around, and talk about Edric's trip with Skjor, but when his man asked him to do something he had to have a pretty good reason to not do it, and he did want to see the inside of the house that would be their home someday, the place that they would raise a family together, when his husband came back from war. Because he would come back.

They put the books and Edric's gear away, dressed in regular clothes then made their way out of Jorrvaskr, calling the dog to come with them, and Meeko was more than happy to go. Edric seemed pretty content as they walked through town, nodding to the folk who greeted him, with nods of their own or reverent murmurs of  _Dovahkiin_ or  _Dragonborn_. Others stepped out of the way and simply stared, some with resentment, some with fear, or both. It was kind of unsettling to see, but he was more used to it now, after traveling together. He didn't like people looking at his man like that, but it wasn't as if he didn't understand why they did.

Farkas found his mate's silence uncomfortable, and so he ventured, "So, uh, what were you doing in Riverwood?"

"Skjor wanted the bounty for Bannermist Tower," Edric explained. "I told him I would cover it, and he wouldn't hear of it. Said it would set a bad precedent, and I couldn't really argue with that. He doesn't want anyone getting the idea that the Companions are a charity just because I'm here. Especially the Jarls."

Farkas grunted in agreement. "That's a good point."

"I thought so. So we swung south through Falkreath to pick up the pay. Got there early enough that we didn't need to spend the night. Saw Narri out on the porch." Farkas grunted again. Edric said in a thoughtful tone, "She didn't seem too pleased to see us. Or me, rather. Didn't seem too pleased at all."

Farkas grimaced and muttered, "Yeah." So Narri was unhappy about Farkas being with Edric. He didn't know what to say about that. He knew she liked him, but he'd assumed she liked Vilkas just as much. She always seemed excited to see them both, and Farkas hadn't gone there without his brother in a long time. Hearing this, he worried that it was him that Narri had really wanted, and that Vikas was just the side benefit. He wasn't sure why that would be, either. Before he started getting weird Vilkas had always been popular with women, good in bed, attentive, if not very cuddly.

"Dengeir said that Ulfric sent people and funds to have Helgen rebuilt. The bones of the town are still there, supposedly. With the pass there, probably best to have that done, but fuck if I'm ever going back. We cut down to the lake and followed it to Riverwood." Edric blew out a long breath through his nose and added in a sour tone, "We got there late, so most of the town was asleep when we reached the inn. Hadvar wasn't. I tried to ignore him, Farkas. I swear on my honor that I did."

They didn't pause as Farkas caught Edric's hand, taking it in his own. His mate's expression was tense, his eyes narrowed and lips pursed, giving off twinges of irritation. They continued walking to Breezehome, and Edric said nothing more, maybe not wanting to get any grumpier in public. He held Farkas' hand though, without hesitation, and he only looked grumpy because Farkas knew him so well. Thinking about Hadvar was guaranteed to bring on a mood, as would being in Riverwood in general. Farkas wondered if Edric had gone to Ralof's grave again, but if they had gotten into town late he might not have had the chance, and that was something Farkas just wasn't going to ask.

They reached the house and Edric huffed and tried to let go of his mood, squaring his shoulders and looking up at Farkas with a strained smile. "It's furnished," he began, "but just the bare necessities. I sort of tossed things in here, so it's a bit of a mess."

"Gotcha."

His man reached into a belt pouch then drew out a key, letting go of the taller man's hand. "It's not a big house," he went on quietly as he fit the key into the lock. "Only has two spare rooms and no real kitchen."

"I'm sure it's fine, honey."

"Don't really like the fire pit in the floor either."

"That can be fixed."

Edric shoved the door open, with a little more force than was necessary, and the dog ran past to start inspecting everything. "The cellar looks like it's full of trash-"

Farkas caught him in the doorway, taking him by the shoulders. His mate was tense and looked unhappy, frowning as he stared at Farkas' chest, and the Companion soothed, "Whatever you don't like about the house can be fixed, love." Edric nodded, his nose scrunched up. Farkas knew damn well it wasn't the house itself that was the problem, not really. There was no way it could be, because his man wasn't usually that simple. And it was a nice house. Maybe it was making him think about the big house in Windhelm, the one he had spent so much time and money refurbishing as a surprise for Ralof, that his first husband had never gotten to lay eyes on.

He kissed Edric's forehead then drew him inside, seeing people standing out in the street watching them. He closed the door then took his man's hand again and said with a smile, "This is a real good house, sweetheart. Looks solid." The ebony armor was laid out on the dining table, and there were sacks piled in front of the cold, empty fire pit. The place looked clean, at least. He had been afraid that there would be cobwebs in every corner. Maybe Vignar's people hadn't had the chance to clear out the cellar, though there were barrels near there that looked as if they had been rolled out of the way, so maybe they hadn't realized that there was a cellar down there.

"I suppose," Edric mumbled.

"I don't know much about houses, but I bet a stonemason can put in a fireplace easily enough. That'll make more room out here, then you could put in a little kitchen area in the back."

"That's...true."

He ventured, "I know it isn't Hjerim, but I like it." Edric's expression crumpled, then he closed his eyes for a moment before giving Farkas' hand a squeeze. So that really was the problem. The Companion added, "The house isn't important. Living with you is, I don't care where or how." Edric leaned into him, giving off little wisps of sorrow, touches of anger and disappointment, and it had to be pretty bad for Farkas to feel it.

"I'm sorry," his mate muttered. "I wanted this to be nice. I spent years on the Windhelm house. I wanted it to be perfect. And it was. It is. This is…"

" _Fine_ ," Farkas stressed, finishing the sentence for him as he pulled him into a hug. "We don't need big or perfect. It's cozy. Just the right size for us and a couple kids. Not too far from the market, and close enough to the gates that you won't have to go all the way through town to come home from hunting dragons or doing Thane things. I like the house a lot." He felt Edric relax against him, the negative feelings fading away, arms tightening around him.

"Good, because it's yours."

Farkas' eyes widened, his hands stilling on his man's back. "It's what?" he breathed.

"I had Brill put your name on the title to the house, along with mine. We own the house, together." He sighed. "I was going to tell you tomorrow. I wanted it to be your birthday present, but… I'm sick of waiting for everything. I waited too long with Ray, and...and I'm going to have to wait to live here with you, but I wanted you to have the house, at least, even if it isn't finished."

Farkas couldn't speak, his throat tight, and instead held Edric a little tighter and kissed the side of his head. Their house. This was  _their_ house. He had a house.  _They_ had a house. Together.

Edric went on, "I bought it before the bond was there. I figured...anything could happen. I wanted you taken care of, if something happened."

He kissed Edric's head again, more roughly than he intended, but he was just feeling so much right now. It went without saying that things had changed since then. They'd bonded so fast that there had hardly been any time in between. Less than a month, now that he was really thinking about it. And now, now that it was there, he didn't see either of them surviving the loss of the other for long. That was what was behind his husband's last statement, but it sort of went without saying. They'd already said it, weeks ago.

"Show me the rest of the house," he murmured. Edric lifted his head to look him in the eye, and Farkas bent down to rub their noses together. "Our house."

Edric whispered, "Aye, our house." He leaned up and rubbed his cheek along Farkas' then kissed it, then he took a big hand in his own and gave it a tug. He pulled him towards the back, saying, "There's a room back here. Thought it might work for a kids' room. The second room upstairs is too small for more than one, and...two. I think two would be all right, spaced apart a bit."

"Sounds good to me." Taking on two kids at once would be more than they could handle, though they had done all right with the one. As he peeked into the room he mentioned, "Ulfberth said he and Adrianne would like to take Eivind, if the ma doesn't turn up. I know we talked about Hod and Gerdur, but…maybe they would be better."

"They probably would be. Hod and Gerdur liked the baby, but I don't think they want to start over, with Frodnar thirteen now."

"Do you think she'll show up? The boy's ma I mean. Shouldn't she be back by now?" It was two days' ride to Morthal, if she'd managed to stay on the horse, and frankly he didn't see how anyone could tolerate that for long. No one, male or female, wanted a horse's bare spine shoved up in their business, banging against it as they rode, though maybe the skeleton horse had some kind of ghost flesh or something padding it. It was horrible to think about, so he wouldn't, not for long. But still, the woman should've made it back if she was going to. It had been nine days.

"We'll give it another week. Something could've come up. I'm not writing her off yet."

Farkas supposed he shouldn't either. The woman could've come off the horse and had to walk, and vampire or not anything could've happened to her, causing a delay. And even if she had made it to Morthal and gotten cured, getting back would be even harder, if she couldn't find anyone to take her to Whiterun. Plus who knew how it felt to be cured of being a vampire? Maybe she'd had to recover or something. It was only fair to give her more time.

As Edric gently dragged him upstairs, the Dragonborn added in a wary tone, "So...Skjor and I scented fresh werewolf on the way to Rorikstead. On the main road, between the forts. Not far from Bloated Man's Grotto."

"Sinding?" Farkas whispered. That made him really uneasy. Worried. And more than a little angry. He felt sorry for the guy, he honestly did, but the cave where Edric had spared him and left him on his own was way, way too close to the road. There was also the fact that Whiterun hold was Companion territory. Edric really hadn't had permission to allow another werewolf to live inside it when he let Sinding live. None of the Circle would have. Regular werewolves were different, dangerous, especially rogue werewolves without a pack. If Sinding wasn't honoring his promise then that took away the one single reason he had to be in this hold. Edric hadn't known any of that at the time, but that didn't change much.

"Has to be. He promised me he'd stay away from the roads and people. He's breaking that promise. I would've checked on him, but Skjor said he might take that as a threat."

"Yeah, he might." Not that Sinding would be any danger to the Dragonborn and the Harbinger. Any halfway rational werewolf would slink away from those two, and maybe Edric smelled good, but he also smelled strange now, and that combination of wolf and dragon would be unsettling to almost any other werewolf.

"Skjor said that he needed to be put down, but we didn't see any sign that he was causing trouble. I ah, can't read things all that well yet. Smells. Sensations. I thought maybe it was the wind carrying the scent, but Skjor said it was more localized than that. He was certain that the wolf was prowling the road. Skjor wants to call the Circle together when he gets back and decide what to do about him." They paused at the top of the stairs and looked into the small bedroom. "The trip was good, though. We talked a lot. I learned a lot from him. I have from you too, but...it's different."

"Yeah." Learning things from a mate, no matter how experienced that mate was, wasn't the same as learning from an older pack member.

"I relate to him better than the old man," Edric said with obvious regret. "Kodlak kept trying to  _school_ me. Lecture me. He tried not to, I should say. I could tell it was hard for him not to, but it kept slipping out. We didn't agree on Ulfric. We didn't agree on how I fought the war. Didn't agree on how I handled Tullius. Didn't agree on how the Companions were run. Didn't agree about how I went about things with Ralof, and… maybe he was right about that, at least. Skjor and I have our differences of opinion too, but not as many, and they don't feel personal, and maybe Kodlak never intended any of it that way, maybe it was all me taking it that way, but still, it felt personal."

"Because you loved each other," Farkas stated. It wasn't like it was hard to understand. "Maybe he didn't raise you, but he wanted to, and he missed out, and so he had to do what he could while he could." He heard a grumble from his mate and felt a twinge of grief, then it was gone again. He pointed at the room and asked, "What's this room gonna be for?"

"A housecarl. I'll have to take one on when I get back. Maybe Valdimar, if he lives through the war. Or maybe put the housecarl downstairs and squeeze the kids in up here, until they're older. We'll figure it out." He motioned to the upstairs. "Need more bookshelves, though. Lots more. I have a shitload of books. Some are duplicates, I think. Copies. I've never had the chance to sort them out."

"You'll have plenty of time, after." Or Vilkas could help Farkas with the job, once Edric was gone and his brother was cured, but he wasn't going to tell his man that. Edric led him by the hand to the last room, and it was a good-sized one, a little bigger than their room in Jorrvaskr, though longer than wider. A dresser was to the left of the door, and on the other side was a small table with two chairs. The bed was big enough, flanked by two nightstands, though the bed itself wasn't usable, just bare boards. That sort of squashed what he was hoping for at the moment.

As if sensing the disappointment, Edric said in a wry tone, "I'll take care of the bed before our date,  _miingi_."

Farkas chuckled. "Date." That was cute, even if they were basically married now. They hadn't really courted much at all, not the way Farkas had hoped to, but it hadn't ended up being necessary, and really, no one said they had to stop just because they were bonded. He tugged Edric against him, making the smaller man grunt in surprise, then he felt strong arms wrapping around his waist. "It's a great house, honey," he said with all honesty. "We can get it fixed up, no problem."

"Maybe...maybe while I'm away… I'll leave you with a good amount of money. You could do what you want with the house. It might be a good project." He laid his head on Farkas' chest. "When you get back from dealing with the Silver Hand, I'd like to go visit my mother. Get it over with. Maybe after the New Life Festival."

Farkas could tell Edric was dreading it. He just didn't know how Daina would react to any of what he had to tell her, about being Dragonborn, being a werewolf, Kodlak... How often during his childhood had he been uncertain of how his mother would react?

And being able to see into people's hearts, through their eyes, the way Kodlak could...when had that started? Had it always been that way, even when he was little? It occurred to Farkas just now to wonder, and it shook him a bit, thinking of tiny little Edric, street-wise beyond his years, able to tell when people were lying, or up to no good, or when they really did mean well, and able to look into his mother's eyes and see...what, exactly? If Daina really believed the things she said, how could Edric ever know what the truth was, growing up? When had he decided to believe nothing at all that she said, just to be safe?

"Yeah, I'd like that," he ended up saying. "A lot." He felt Edric nod, and he felt something else too, a growing discomfort, a swell of want, then his husband was suddenly out of his arms and moving about the room, leaving the smell of distress in his wake.

"She'll, ah...like you," Edric stated, going to the nearest end table and opening the drawers, hands trembling slightly. "Once she gets used to everything."

Worried, Farkas said, "She will. Get used to everything, I mean." He knew what had set this off. It was really damn obvious what had. Maybe he wasn't smart, but he knew people, and no matter how his man had claimed that there wasn't any trigger that had started him on drinking heavily, Farkas knew that wasn't true. Maybe Edric's mother wasn't the whole reason, but she was a big part of it. The stress of a childhood spent always on the move, worrying where the next meal was going to come from, with a young, damaged mother who had sacrificed herself to take care of her child plus whatever it did to a kid being able to see things the way Edric did...all of that had contributed to Edric's drinking problem, and the root of most of those problems were tied up in what had happened to Daina in Bruma, and Kodlak not being there to keep it from happening in the first place, or being there afterward to help. That wasn't Daina's fault at all, or Kodlak's, and Edric knew that, but you could know a thing and still resent it, and still have it affect everything you were.

"Or she won't."

"She will," Farkas stressed. "You're her son and she loves you."

"I  _know_ that." His voice was tinged with aggravation, and offense, with a touch of wolf in it, then he blew out a shaky breath and whispered, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, honey."

"No, it really isn't." He blew the breath out harder and sat down abruptly on the empty bed frame, clasping his hands between his knees before launching himself to his feet again to rub the back of his wrist across his forehead. "Fuck."

Farkas stayed in the doorway, resisting the urge to go comfort him. He wouldn't want it right now, not with as agitated as he looked and felt. It was horrible, watching his husband wrestle with himself and his cravings and being helpless to do anything about it. He worried about what Edric had done to cope while he was out with Skjor, but didn't think he should ask. It was over and done, and Skjor would have made sure he stayed away from drink.

Edric shook out his hands, avoiding Farkas' eyes, and went around the bed to the other nightstand to search it. "What d'you think is down in the cellar?"

Gods, the cellar. He did  _not_ want to go down there. "Probably a fuck ton of spiders," he muttered.

"Yeah," Edric laughed, the sound brittle. "I reckon so."

"Maybe you could toss a fireball down there or something."

Edric laughed a bit more loudly. "That's one way to remodel the house. Blow the whole fucking thing to Oblivion and start over." Farkas chuckled. Edric was smiling though, even as he shut the drawer and turned to run his fingers along the wall then tap his knuckles on it. "I should get started on those recruitment letters tonight. See if Ria wants to help. I want, well, we need, to get some new blood in as soon as possible."

Right. Skjor. Time was running out, and maybe Edric's feeling that Skjor wouldn't make it to the New Year was just that, a feeling, but it was one that Farkas took seriously. He could only hope that Edric had talked to Skjor about it and told the old man to be careful. It hurt though, to think his forebear could be gone soon, and Farkas didn't know how to manage that knowledge. It was hard not to look at the Harbinger and think about it. It was hard not to get anxious about where the Companions were going, with their numbers so low and possibly two Harbingers lost within as many months. The only thing that kept him from panicking over it was knowing that Edric would take things in hand. That and panicking just not being in his nature.

"I'm glad you like the house, though."

"I love the house, and I love you," Farkas stated. As he'd hoped, that made Edric finally look at him, silver eyes bright, the anxiety and cravings fading. Farkas smiled at him, and Edric laughed and came over to take his hand.

"Come here, you." He pulled the bigger man over to the closest chair and gently pushed him into it then straddled his lap. Edric wound his arms around Farkas' neck and kissed him then held him tightly. "Fuck but I missed you," he whispered.

His arms went around his mate's waist. "I missed you more than anything. At least the bed smelled like you."

Edric sighed and kissed Farkas' neck then nuzzled it. He sought out the pulse and held his lips against it, and after a few seconds he chuckled and murmured, "You know, while I was gone, I could've sworn that I felt you getting off,  _miingi_."

Farkas groaned. "Really?" Well of course he had, almost every night. He always had. It helped him fall asleep. It was just what he did, and his man hadn't been there.

"Pretty sure. Kind of frustrating, with Skjor there."

Farkas grimaced, his face warm, though he really didn't have any reason to be embarrassed, not with all the things that they had done together. Edric kissed more firmly against his neck then sat up and wound his hands in Farkas' hair, a little too tight for comfort, before kissing him hard. When his mate broke away Farkas whispered, "Honey, we shouldn't-" Edric interrupted him with another kiss, and damn but it was hard to think with a lapful of handsome man.

"Missed you," Edric growled, leaning down to nip at Farkas' earlobe.

"I know, but-"

"Shut up and grab my ass, Farkas."

He couldn't help but laugh at that and do what he was told. So his man was in  _that_ kind of mood, even if the demand had been delivered in a tone of voice that told him it was partly a joke. He never minded. He pulled them against each other as his mate kissed him again, the scent of arousal rising in the air.

A wet black nose shoved itself between them, and Edric broke off in confusion then looked down to see Meeko grinning up at them, tongue hanging from his mouth. Farkas sighed, "That was what-" He gasped as Edric snarled furiously at the dog, who spun away with a loud yelp, and when his man lunged at the animal Farkas cried out in dismay and tightened his arms.

"Fucking dog!" Edric's voice was thick and gravelly, full of the beast.

"Edie, stop," Farkas grunted, trying to keep hold of his husband, a slim but ridiculously strong husband who suddenly reeked of wolf. Edric's body shook with anger but he stopped fighting, then his eyes widened as he put his hands in his hair and looked at Farkas with an expression of fear in his yellow eyes. "Shh, it's okay," Farkas murmured. Edric whimpered, trembling, and Farkas rubbed his back with one hand and his hair with the other. "Just a stupid dog, that's all." He made gentle shushing sounds as he petted his mate, calming him, holding his gaze. "It's okay, honey, just look at me. It's all right."

Edric let out a shuddering breath as the yellow began to fade, and when it finally did he whined and buried his face in Farkas' hair. The smell of wolf started to fade a little, back to something more normal. Gods, but that had been scary. Farkas didn't want to think about what would have happened if he hadn't been here, or one of the other members of the Circle, but then it wouldn't have gotten to this point if they hadn't been fooling around with the nosy dog in the house.

Irritated with their Harbinger, Farkas muttered, "Skjor should've taken you out." The older werewolf should've taken responsibility for the youngest member of the pack, one who was also still struggling with addiction and was newly bonded on top of it. Skjor should have asked when the last time was that Edric had hunted and taken care of it before they found Erik.

"I thought I could handle it," he whispered.

"You did. You did fine." Edric made a scoffing sound but didn't argue. Farkas continued holding him, worried about the dog. Meeko was still in the house, he had to be, probably scared out of his wits. Farkas' mate was more important than the dog though. He rubbed Edric's back until the trembling went away, unable to help feeling a little responsible for this. More than a little. He should've told Skjor to take Edric hunting, since it had been a little over a week by time they made it back home. Farkas was really feeling it too, but he had been a werewolf for nearly twenty years and could deal with it well enough.

His hand went into Edric's hair to rub his scalp as he said, "We'll go out tonight, all four of us. Today you're gonna stick by me or Aela, okay?" He felt his husband nod. He made a sound of worry and asked, "What're you going to do when you go south?" Edric would be a little more experienced by then, and have more time sober under his belt, but how in Oblivion was he supposed to hunt in a war zone? Especially without resorting to... _that_? Eating people.

The thought sent a spike of pure anxiety through him. You could change into the wolf then back again without killing and eating something and do okay, once in a while, but not very often, not without feeling sick and weak. Edric would be fighting a war, the kind of war that Farkas couldn't wrap his head around. He couldn't wrap his head around war in general, but what Edric was heading for next year was  _War_ , another Great War. The thought of that was bad enough without adding the beastblood to it.

"I talked to Kodlak about it," his man muttered. "We figured out a couple things. And...maybe I'll have to tell Valdimar, if he goes with me."

Farkas grunted, not happy about that. He wasn't happy about that at all. Outsiders weren't supposed to know. It wasn't just Edric's secret; it was the entire Circle's. Maybe Edric could convince the housecarl that he was the only one who was a werewolf, but Valdimar didn't seem that naive. He didn't seem naive at all, and Edric wasn't a liar. He prided himself on not lying, though he was pretty good at saying things in a way that maybe wasn't lying but didn't give away the truth either.

He let it go. He had to. He wasn't going to start anything with his husband while he was feeling vulnerable, and if Edric said he had worked it out with his father then he had. Edric never said what those things were that he and Kodlak had agreed upon, and there was a reason for that, and Farkas knew damn well his man wasn't going to share that knowledge, so pushing the matter could only cause problems between them. Time was too short for causing problems.

After a few minutes Edric lifted his head, looking tired, and Farkas brushed hair back from his man's face. "Let's go home and take a nap. I could use one too."

"I wanted to take some scales and bones up to Eorlund," Edric muttered. "See if he can do something with them."

"I'll help you take them up, then we'll go back to sleep."

"Aye." Edric's expression was sullen, unhappy.

Farkas clucked his tongue. "It's okay, sweetheart," he soothed. "It happens to everyone. Me, Aela, Vilkas, all of us."

"I scared the shit out of the poor dog."

"I know, but he'll get over it." He kissed Edric, who was still in a bad mood, but it would be better once Edric wasn't so tired. He was tired and hadn't hunted in two and a half weeks, and he was worried about talking to his mother, and aggravated with Hadvar, and feeling bad about the dog, and not feeling all that happy with the house either. Bad, bad combination.

Farkas petted and kissed him a couple minutes more, careful to not start anything, which had been foolish of them when they were both due to hunt. There probably would've been biting, on both their parts, something Edric couldn't heal and maybe wouldn't have been able to hide. Even if they were both werewolves now it had been a bad idea. Tonight's hunt might be a bit of a rough one, but if they could get Skjor and Aela to go along it would help Edric keep a bit of control. If only they could get Vilkas to come out with them too, it would solve a lot of problems, but that was just never going to happen. Farkas didn't think Vilkas would even agree to come out with them in the spring for Aela's sake, and…

And what  _were_ they going to do about Aela's season, if Skjor would be dead by then and Vilkas refused to go? The thought of going out there with her was...it was… He couldn't even think about it. He didn't want anything to do with it, and Edric would even less. They were a bonded pair, and bonded pairs had no business getting involved in that kind of situation. He and Edric were only for each other, only wanted each other. Even if they hadn't been bonded, even if they weren't together, he would never expect Edric to join in. It would be just as wrong to ask that of him as it would be for Vilkas to expect Farkas to marry a woman. Farkas at least had been with women plenty of times and had always enjoyed that certain night in the spring, but Edric had such a total lack of sexual attraction to anything female that expecting him to be with a woman that way was just not right.

As Farkas led his man downstairs he pushed the matter aside as completely as he could, which was pretty completely. It wasn't his responsibility, or his business. It was Aela's, and Aela would never expect that of a mated pair. Farkas would help her if she asked, escort her to another pack, or just hang out with her on the plains while the heat ran its course and hope it didn't affect him at all, but she would have to ask. Farkas wasn't one to stick his nose into other people's business, and Aela wouldn't appreciate it. In fact she would probably get pretty pissed off if he even brought it up.

They found Meeko cowering in the corner of the downstairs bedroom, and Edric made a little moaning sound of guilt and squatted down. "I'm so sorry, boy," he whispered. "Fucking monster."

"You're not," Farkas stated, hunkering down beside him.

Edric ignored him, giving off twinges of self-loathing, something he did far too often in Farkas' opinion. He held his hand out and made kissy sounds, and the dog crept forward, tail between his legs and ears flattened. Meeko laid his muzzle in Edric's palm then flopped onto his side and exposed his belly.

Farkas sighed at the submissive display, one Edric didn't seem to understand, instead chuckling and rubbing the dog's chest and head. Meeko's tail eventually unfolded and began thumping on the floor, then the dog finally rolled onto his feet and wiggled his hind end as he licked Edric's cheek and tried to play.

Edric laughed and gently rough-housed with the dog and everything was fine again. Farkas wasn't too worried about it. Wolf packs, real wolves, had a pecking order, and the younger or meeker ones got snarled at and scolded by the more dominant ones all the time, and dogs weren't all that different from wolves. Meeko would learn from this and behave better, with no harm done.

Farkas and the dog followed Edric into the front of the house, where the bags sat, and when his husband opened one the rich, dusty, spicy scent of dragon rose from it, overwhelming at first. "Wow," Farkas breathed, taking in the piles of scale and bone. He picked up one of the scales, a small one, a bit smaller than his palm, and brought it to his nose. The smell was a dozen times stronger than it was in the Dragonborn. His eyes lit on his mate, who was watching him with that strange, intense gaze that he got sometimes. Measuring. Overthinking. He smiled at him and asked, "Can I have this one? So I can smell it when we're away from each other." As he hoped, his mate's expression softened.

"Of course,  _miingi_ ," he murmured. "What's mine is yours, remember?  _Dii piraakt engein wah hi, ahmul_." There was a faint rumble to the dragon words. Edric stroked Farkas' cheek, then leaned forward to rub his nose against it then kiss it. " _Ahmuli_." He kissed it again. "It means husband. My husband."

" _Ahmul_ ," Farkas repeated, though he knew it wasn't quite right, missing some sound in the back of the throat that Edric had made, but the attempt made his mate hum happily and move close to lean against him. Edric rarely spoke the dragon language, but maybe the smell and sight of the dragon remains were bringing the dragon to the front right now. The dog seemed afraid of the sack, pacing back and forth and eyeing it with suspicion. Farkas rubbed his thumbs across the scale, which was a dull grayish-brown color. All of them were. "I thought dragons were all different colors," he said in a curious tone.

"They are. The coloration seems to burn away when they die. Everything does except the skeleton and maybe half a dozen scales. And bits of whatever they recently ate." He shrugged. "Maybe if I wasn't around when one died, it might stay a carcass. Meat, blood, leather, all that. Haven't heard of that happening though. Dragons aren't animals. They're magical creatures."

Farkas smelled the scale again, thinking his man was pretty magical too. "Did you always smell this way?"

"Aye. Been that way as long as I can remember. No reason it wouldn't be. Maybe that first dragon changed some things, but others were already there and always have been." He rubbed his nose and chuckled, sounding self-conscious. "Lovers always said I smelled good, and ah, tasted good. Or strange. My, ah, stuff." Farkas grunted with a nod. "Once I took that first dragon, I figured out why it did, but...I always wondered, if I had a child of my own… Not that I ever could, or would, but I wondered if it would be Dragonborn like me." He picked up two of the bones and knocked them together. "In my worst moments, I debated whether I should try to father some kids," he mumbled. "See if I could pass it on. Make more Dragonborn."

Bewildered, Farkas stayed silent.

Edric sighed through his nose and clanked the bones together again, harder, and this time there was a faint ringing sound to them. "You spend that much time alone your thoughts start going strange places. You spend all that time sucking down dragon souls, feeling the power grow, hearing bards sing songs about you, seeing people's fear and adulation, it's all too easy to start thinking about dynasties. Bloodlines. You start thinking you're better than everyone else, not just better at things but  _better_ , just because of what you are. You start thinking you aren't getting paid enough for this shit. You start thinking, maybe… maybe you could take more, because if you don't have the right, who does? Take the country. Not just for Ulfric but yourself. Maybe even take back the Empire, just because you can, and you  _know_ you can. It would be long and bloody, getting there, but Tiber Septim did it, so why not? The Empire was secure as long as there were dragon-blooded emperors on the throne. The Empire could be rebuilt better, stronger."

Farkas didn't speak, his heart in his throat. He'd never heard Edric say anything like this before. Farkas had heard him say plenty of times that he had been vain, that he'd enjoyed the power being Dragonborn gave him. But he had never heard Edric say that he'd felt any desire to rule anything. Wasn't that in the Dragonborn's nature though? To crave power, and live for battle, and in Farkas' mind those two things went hand-in-hand with wanting to rule. With taking what you wanted by force. Bending others to your will.

Edric tossed the bones back into the bag with a clatter. "Guess it's a good thing that those moments were few and far between, and didn't last long." He leaned against the bigger man's shoulder and chuckled. "Could you imagine me trying to have sex with a woman?"

Farkas grimaced and muttered, "No, and I don't want to." He wanted to imagine that even less than imagining his husband with another man.

He laughed louder at Farkas' reaction. "I wouldn't have the foggiest notion where to start. I don't think I  _could_ start. Not like I haven't seen naked women plenty, in the Legion and the Stormcloaks, all mixed together as we were. Might as well have been looking at a mannequin for all it did for me." His tone turned thoughtful. "I'm sure it's plenty nice. I've never bothered to ask how it's different. Guess I never really cared." He kissed Farkas' cheek. "Help me carry some of this up to the smith? I want to give him a good sampling to work on."

Was he ever glad that conversation was over. "Sure honey."

He slipped the small scale into a pouch as his man sorted through the bones and scales, all different sizes and types. Farkas took the bones, since they were heavier. Edric was stronger than him, he knew that, but Farkas was bigger and some of them were kind of awkward. He wasn't smart, but he was surprised by how heavy the bones were. He knew bird bones were hollow, to make them lighter, to help them fly, but how did a dragon even get off the ground? Magic, he supposed. He didn't know what else it could be.

Edric locked up the house behind them then they made their way back up to Jorrvaskr, the dog trotting at Edric's side. Farkas tried not to scowl when everyone gawked openly this time at not only both of them but the load they were carrying. They saw Lucia and Mila Valentia in the market as they passed through, the two pre-teen girls sitting on the rim of the well with their heads close, nimble fingers weaving something together, laughing as they talked. It made Farkas happy to see the girl happy, wearing clean, warm clothes and good boots. Before long she'd be back to a healthy weight, too. Tilma had done a good thing, taking her in.

He heard a tiny grunt from Edric and followed his man's gaze to see the beggar warming his hands at one of the braziers that flanked the steps to the Bannered Mare. It was the month of Evening Star, so it was pretty cold, and it would get colder yet. Brenuin was wrapped in rags, only his face showing, shivering, an empty bottle at his feet, watching the girls play with a sad, wistful smile on his face.

Edric yanked his eyes away and passed the girls without a glance then headed up the stairs. Farkas followed, understanding his husband's discomfort. It wasn't hard to understand that at all. Nearly every town of any size had a local drunk. Farkas wanted to believe that Edric never would've ended up in such straits, but he couldn't help thinking that in time, with a good dose of misfortune, Edric very well could have ended up in a similar situation. Being Dragonborn would make a big difference, with a dragon's constitution, but maybe that only would've delayed the inevitable. Not every alcoholic ended up homeless, hell, most of them didn't, but looking at Brenuin had to hit a little too close to home for Edric.

Up in the Wind District, the Dragonborn paused in the plaza, just a few seconds, to take in the tree, then he continued on to the Skyforge. Eorlund and Avulstein were talking there, the older smith showing the younger one the inside of a horned helmet. It had a faint sheen when he moved it about. Enchanted. Farkas knew that working on enchanted gear was different somehow than normal smithing, but he couldn't say how. He'd always found blacksmithing interesting. Maybe in a different life he might've liked to learn the trade.

The smiths looked up from what they were doing and Eorlund's eyes narrowed at the dog, then they lit on the bones and scales. He nodded to Edric. "Dragonborn," he said in greeting. "Been meaning to talk to you, but it looks like you've got something on your mind."

"Aye. These." Edric held up a scale. "Ever taken a close look?"

"Can't say that I have. Got no reason to. Why?"

Edric looked at his husband and said, "Knock two of those big bones together,  _miingi_."

It wasn't easy to do, with his arms full, so he set his stack down then grabbed the two longest bones and clanked them together. The bones made a deep ringing sound that sent vibrations up his arms. Eorlund's eyebrows rose, showing about as much surprise as Farkas had ever seen on the older man's face.

Avulstein said in disbelief, "Impossible. Surely they aren't metal! How could the beasts fly?"

"Magic," Edric stated, as if that was obvious. The cryptic answer seemed to annoy the two smiths. The Dragonborn dumped his armful of scales next to the bones then took the two that Farkas held. He struck them together with more force, and the sound rang like a dull, heavy bell, echoing off the sheltering hawk of the Skyforge. "As a kid I liked watching the smiths in the towns we stayed in, and I spent ten years in the Legion studying the trade in my free time. That and magic. I have enough knowledge of both to know that there's something here worth looking into." He rang the bones again. "I've tried working the bones and scales, but I don't have the skill, or the time or inclination to gain that skill." He tossed one of the bones to Eorlund, who caught it with some difficulty, taken aback by the weight of it. "Been thinking maybe you do, Master Smith."

Eorlund stared at him in disbelief then lowered his eyes to the bone in his hand. He scraped it with his thumbnail then tested the heft of it. Not taking his eyes off it, he held his hand out, and Edric placed the other bone in it. The smith knocked the two together, and the resulting ring made him draw in a deep, quick breath and raise his gaze to Edric's again. The Dragonborn met it with a mix of challenge and question in his expression. "You think the remains can be worked in a forge," the old smith said.

"I'm thinking they might. Maybe not just any forge, but this one… If any forge can, it's this one." The Dragonborn added with certainty, "I know smithing, and I know magic. And I know the two combined when I see it." When Eorlund frowned, Edric added with a nod of respect, "You're the greatest smith in Skyrim, no doubt about it. You could turn out better steel than any other using even Adrianne's forge. But this is the only place on Nirn where you could turn out Skyforge steel. And I think this is the only place on Nirn where you could work dragon bones and scales." He shrugged. "If it's possible. Who knows?"

Eorlund looked at the bones again, then sideways at his son. Avulstein gnawed at his bottom lip while Edric waited, then the younger smith finally said, "The ah, Skyforge… Pa's always said, and Grandad, when he was still alive...that the souls of Jorrvaskr's dead heroes are what give the steel its strength. Kodlak's the first in a long time who's, ah, chosen to go to the forge." Edric gave a slight nod, his gaze moving past the two smiths to the Skyforge. "I'm not anywhere near as good as Pa, not yet, but I can feel the difference in the forge lately. It's more… It's  _more_."

"More awake," Eorlund explained. "More alive, as if it's young again." He ran his thumbs across the bones. "I'll wager it could forge pieces the likes of which haven't been seen since eras long forgotten. Maybe…" The old smith trailed off. He looked down at the pile of bones and scales at Farkas and Edric's feet, then he met the Dragonborn's eyes again as he lifted his chin. "How much material do we have to work with?"

Farkas watched the subtle play of emotion on his husband's face, which wasn't giving away as much of the intense satisfaction and excitement Edric was feeling as Farkas was picking up. The smiths didn't seem to notice, but Farkas could see it plain as day, the way Edric's eyes brightened and a tiny tremor went through his body.

"How about a hundred pounds, to start?"

Eorlund barked out a laugh then shook his head. "Aye lad, that will do."

The Dragonborn finally smiled at that. "Excellent." He gestured vaguely and added, "Anything else you need, I can get it. Fire salts, potions, gear, metals...anything you can think of, I've got it stored away somewhere."

"Bring me another pile that size, to start," Eorlund ordered, pointing at the scales and bones. "I'm eager to get going on it."

"Aye, I'll be back."

Farkas stared goggle-eyed at Eorlund. Eager. The old man said he was  _eager_. Edric was too, just about bursting with it, the kind of excitement Farkas had never seen in him before, though he had come close the morning that he suggested they hunt a dragon together. Edric clenched his fist in front of him with a wiggle of his shoulders then grabbed Farkas' hand and just about pulled him down the stairs.

"Fuck, but this is exciting!" Edric crowed.

Farkas chuckled and said, "I can tell." Meeko was dancing around them, tail wagging madly, as if he could sense his master's delight and was happy for him too.

"I've been wanting to get a Master Smith to look at them for  _years_. Years,  _miingi!_  Do you have any idea how much of that shit I've got stored up all over Skyrim? Tons of it. Not figure-of-speech tons. Actual tons!" He squeezed Farkas' hand as they went down the stairs in front of the mead hall. "What if he really can forge it? What if he could make armor out of it? Weapons, even?" Edric grinned, all teeth, letting go of the bigger man's hand to gesture wildly. "Imagine those fucking elves seeing me come at them wearing actual dragon armor, breathing fire. They'd shit themselves! It would be fucking  _glorious!_ "

Farkas nodded, his smile faltering. That was the last thing he wanted to think about. There wasn't anything glorious about war. Sure, Edric probably looked pretty glorious when he fought all out, a whirlwind of shouts and magic, blade and muscle fueled by the power gained from the souls of the dozens of dragons he'd consumed. Farkas couldn't deny that. Edric had told him before that he was tired of war, but sometimes, the way he talked about it, he didn't seem to be.

Edric paused when he sensed Farkas' steps slowing. He turned to look at the big warrior and Farkas forced a smile onto his face.  _Let him have this_ , he told himself. How often had he seen his man this purely happy? He looked so handsome standing there with the Gildergreen behind him, its perfume filling the air, pink and red blossoms framing Edric so prettily. It made Farkas wish he could paint, so that he could freeze this moment and how his husband looked right now.

"Ahh, you," Edric murmured, softening as he reached out and grabbed the front of Farkas' shirt as he moved close. "You melt me like butter when you look at me like that."

Farkas didn't know what to say. He wasn't good with words, not like Edric was. No one could say that the Dragonborn had chosen him for his brains. Edric  _had_  chosen him, though. That was saying a lot. Most people might not find it romantic, how Edric had made that choice, but it meant more to Farkas that way. He knew he was handsome, and he was tall and well-built, and good in bed, good with his hands in all kinds of ways, but that hadn't really played any part in Edric's decision. He'd chosen Farkas because he knew Farkas was good for him. Would be good to him.

So he'd let Edric be happy daydreaming about scaring the piss out of high elves. If that was what was making him happy right now, who was Farkas to stomp all over that? He never wanted to be the cause of ruining someone's happiness, let alone this someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dovahzul translation:  
> Dii piraakt engein wah hi, ahmul - My possessions belong to you, husband (i.e., what's mine is yours)
> 
> Thanks everyone for your patience. Life has been very busy the last 3-4 months. As always, please rest assured that this story will never be abandoned.


	44. Chapter 44

**Vilkas**

_Keep it together._

Vilkas trembled with anger at the sight of the Dragonborn in the training yard, correcting the gangly redhead's stance while Ria looked on. Erik had no business being here on Jorrvaskr's grounds. None. The training facilities were for the sole use of the Companions and their recruits. He didn't give a fuck who Edric was; he had no right to bring his current source of entertainment here. He had no right to be doing  _any_ of what he was doing with regards to the Companions right now. Sending out handbills to every hold so that dozens of random idiots would come flocking to their doors. Commissioning the Companions' smith to test his crackpot dragon armor theory.  _No right_.

"Don't," Farkas warned, giving him a stony glare before moving past him to go greet his lover.

He grit his teeth, the urge to go over and berate Edric almost too strong to resist. He felt a hand clamp down on his upper arm and smelled Aela, then Skjor was on the other side of him. The closeness of pack made the anger subside to something manageable, while it aggravated him that it had that effect. He wasn't an animal. A beast. Not like his brother and the Dragonborn.

Edric's face lit up at the sight of the big dope, and the grin that split his face was like a sunbeam coming through parted clouds. He moved away from Erik and Ria to embrace Farkas, and the girl watched them with a sappy smile. Then her gaze fell on Vilkas. Ria shuddered and stepped to the right behind Erik, just enough to be out of eye contact.

He growled and Skjor moved in front of him, holding his eyes with his single silver one until Vilkas looked away towards the mountains.

Edric and Farkas joined the others, the bigger man's arm around his lover's shoulders. Lover. Husband. Whatever he was. Not a mate, no matter what kind of animals they chose to behave as. Vilkas had heard them howling the night after Edric had returned. All four of them had been out on the plains, yowling like beasts and doing gods knew what else. As if he didn't know. Edric and Farkas had stayed out there until after Vilkas went to bed, but Skjor and Aela had come back together not long after midnight. Vilkas had been up and awake, finishing a drink at the table, unable to sleep, and the two had come in the back doors refusing to look at each other, or Vilkas, and when Vilkas had gone downstairs less than a minute later he had smelled the faint scent of sex in the air. Skjor had gone immediately to the Harbinger's quarters and shut the door, while Aela had just as quickly gone to bathe. And both had been behaving oddly around each other ever since. Stilted. Awkward.

Edric ignored Vilkas, his eyes instead going to Aela, and a hint of a smirk touched his lips. The Huntress huffed and looked away, and to Vilkas' bewilderment she blushed, the tiniest bit of pink coloring her freckled cheeks. So they had. They really had. Vilkas hadn't wanted to believe that Aela and Skjor had had sex the other night, outside of the well-established boundaries that Aela had set down nearly a decade ago: only during that single night in the spring. All the males had respected that, even if they occasionally got nosy with her on the rare occasions that the full pack had hunted together. She took lovers outside the Companions just as the rest of them did, or had, and that was exactly the way she liked it, and the rest of the Circle had never thought to question it. So why had she allowed this now?

Skjor cleared his throat. "Got another piece," he told the Dragonborn.

Edric nodded in satisfaction. "Only one left then," he stated. "Any leads?"

"Not at this point," Aela said, "but we're working on it." She motioned with her head towards the Skyforge, where Eorlund was grousing about something as Avulstein pumped the bellows. "How's your little project going?"

The Dragonborn grimaced. "I don't know, and I'm not going to ask. I made the mistake of doing so just once, and that was one time too many."

Aela barked out a laugh. "I'm sure."

"So," Edric began, glancing at Aela and Skjor, and both of them immediately tensed up. The Dragonborn rolled his eyes. "Not that. Give it a rest, already." He pointed up at the Throat of the World. " _That_."

Vilkas frowned in confusion, and Skjor and Aela looked to be equally at a loss, though the Harbinger quickly seemed to catch on. Farkas looked unhappy, but also looked as if he understood. That was a novelty that Vilkas thought he might never get used to, being the twin who had no idea what was going on while Farkas was in on everything.

"I have to go up there. I'll be gone for a couple days." He chewed on his lip. "Hopefully only a couple days."

Vilkas sneered, "Just like that. You think you can just pick up on a whim-"

"Yeah, actually I do."

"Here we go," Skjor muttered.

Vilkas pointed at Erik and said, "Then take your stray with you. He has no right to be here."

The Harbinger stated, "I gave him permission, and yes, Edric asked if it was all right first. This doesn't take away from the Companions in any way. He's training Ria at the same time."

Eyes narrowed at Vilkas, Edric interjected, "I'm going up there on a dragon,  _brother_. They don't deign to ferry ordinary folk about even on my say-so. Even if they did, the peak is a sacred place. No one else has any business up there but me and the Greybeards." He gestured towards Dragonsreach, over his shoulder. "Vignar is clearing off the Great Porch. I'll call Odahviing down tomorrow then be on my way."

Vilkas gaped at him in horror as he breathed, "You're going to call a dragon to this city  _again?_  Are you out of your fucking mind?"

"I did it once before," Edric said with a shrug. "Seemed to work out okay."

"Except for the people who died to help you do it!"

"And the world is still here and turning because of it. Surely not even you believe that my stopping Alduin was a bad idea."

"Of course not. It is the  _way_ you go about things," Vilkas stated, holding onto his temper with an effort. "It is your wanton disregard for how your actions affect others."

"My disregard isn't wanton. It's actually rather calculated." He tapped his finger on his chin then shook it at Vilkas. "You know, I could swear we've had this conversation before, or one quite like it." Vilkas didn't bother to answer, the corner of his lip twitching. "Nobody is going to die this time. Or at least I'm pretty sure nobody will."

Appalled, Vilkas stared at the Dragonborn, who stared back with a calm that was more irritating than his anger would have been.

Farkas murmured, "Edie, please. This isn't funny. Don't make it worse." Edric took in a deep breath then slowly let it out, his eyes sliding away from Vilkas'. Farkas took his man's arm and suggested, "Show me what the kid's got. Maybe I can help."

As they turned away, the Dragonborn mumbled, "You just got home."

"I'm not tired. It wasn't as bad as Gallows Rock." He kissed Edric's temple. "I'm gonna be there again when you fly away tomorrow." The smaller man clucked his tongue and leaned against Farkas.

Jaw clenched, Vilkas watched them walk away, then he turned to Skjor and growled, "He should not call a dragon to our city. Why am I the only one who sees the danger in this?"

The Harbinger answered, "You're not the only one, brother, I'm certain of that. However I'm also certain that he's thought it out. If Vignar is fine with it, then so am I." He paused then added, "I have to admit, I wouldn't mind seeing this. Maybe you should too."

"Why, so I can have my nose rubbed further in how lucky we are that the renowned hero has lowered himself to live here amongst us? I  _know_ he is Dragonborn, I do not need to see him ride a dragon to know it, so what is the point?" Skjor stared flatly at him for a moment, and Vilkas grumbled and looked past him. The thing was, he ordinarily would love to see such a thing. He doubted Edric was going to capture one of the beasts again, so there was no reason anyone needed to die this time. It wasn't as if he didn't understand why the Dragonborn had chosen the Great Porch for this, even if he detested the potential reason: Edric wanted people to see him do this. He wanted to reinforce who he was to everyone. The Dragonborn wasn't a large, physically imposing man, especially among Nords, so he no doubt felt he had to flaunt his power in other ways.

When Skjor said nothing more, Vilkas glanced at him and and was shocked to see him gazing at Aela with an unreadable expression, but whatever it was, it wasn't a happy one. She marched off with tight shoulders, and Skjor stared for several seconds at the spot she vacated then sighed and went after her.

"What in Oblivion is this place coming to," Vilkas muttered in disbelief. He knew he wasn't stable, he knew that as well as anyone, but at the moment he felt like the only sane person in Jorrvaskr. Was he really the only member of the Circle who wasn't fucking a shield-sibling? Skjor was the damned Harbinger, for gods' sakes!

He stayed where he was for a bit, wrestling with the notion that Skjor and Aela had slept together during that last hunt, under circumstances that he couldn't fathom, and the very real fact that Edric was going to call a dragon to Whiterun, again, and take off from Dragonsreach, again. Odahviing, that was what he had called the dragon. So they had names? They were beasts, little better than talking animals, so how could they have names?

His eyes went to the Dragonborn, who was slowly walking the young redhead through a series of moves with one of the better two-handed training swords. The lad was wearing a set of iron armor and looked uncomfortable in it, as if still unaccustomed to the weight and how to move with it. Vilkas grit his teeth as Farkas stepped in with his own training sword to provide an opponent, while Edric went through the moves with Ria as an example.

Finally unable to take it anymore, Vilkas went inside. Everything had been upended here. Everything. It was the final straw when he went to the kitchen to grab a bowl of whatever was in the stew pot and found out from Tilma that Edric had sent Njada and Athis on a job together the day before yesterday, which explained their absence. There was an unspoken agreement amongst the Circle that those two be kept separated, as poorly as they got along, and sending two whelps on a job without a member of the Circle wasn't done unless it was an emergency, which this didn't seem to be. He sat fuming as he ate, only vaguely aware of Lucia watching him warily from as far away in the kitchen as she could get.

He then stormed downstairs to give Skjor a piece of his mind. Of course as a member of the Circle Edric had the right to dole out jobs. Vilkas didn't dispute that. He also didn't dispute that Edric was right to stay in Jorrvaskr, to guard their home and keep an eye out for any Silver Hand that might be nosing around. What bothered him was sending two shield-siblings who had never gotten along out on a job that wasn't urgent without a senior member there to keep an eye on things. How Edric had gotten those two to even agree to it was a mystery, other than throwing his weight around, of course.

The sound of Aela's raised voice and Skjor's lowered one from her quarters sent Vilkas that direction. If Skjor was the Harbinger then it was up to him to remind Edric of how things worked around here, since the older man was the only person other than Farkas that the Dragonborn seemed to halfway respect.

"I'm not about to pretend that nothing happened," Skjor stated, his tone of voice calm and reasonable, though Vilkas could hear the touch of exasperation in it, "and you're clearly having trouble doing the same."

"Swear to me it won't happen again!"

Skjor said in amused disbelief, "You seem to forget who started it, sister. You tackled me, remember? Before I'd even caught my breath. Not all of us change as smoothly as you."

Vilkas stopped in the main hall, his mouth falling open. So they had. They really had, and it hadn't even taken place while changed. Aela had always been clear that she had no interest in any of her pack brothers, either as wolves or men. The times in the spring only took place as a necessity, and only as wolves, and while it had always been a pleasant bonding activity, in much the way it was for humans, it never amounted to more, and none of them had ever really wanted it to, no matter how beautiful Aela was. The rite always ended with the pack changing back then lying together in the grass, looking at the moons and smelling the spring flowers on the wind, then they all dressed and Aela drank down a potion and they went home and carried on as usual.

"Don't 'sister' me, you...you mangy old  _dog_." Skjor laughed, and she growled, "This isn't funny, damn it. I should kick all three of your asses."

"Come on now, leave the two lovebirds out of it," he cajoled. "They had nothing to do with this."

"They had everything to do with this! It wouldn't have happened if they hadn't been…" She trailed off, and Vilkas barely had time react before the Huntress was flying out of her quarters, and he gasped as she grabbed him by his belt and hauled him towards his room then shoved him inside. "Not. One. Word!" she hissed, a finger in his face.

"I didn't say anything!" Vilkas cried.

"And you aren't going to!"

"Try not talking about it where everyone and their aunt can hear you two!"

"We thought everyone was outside. When did you start sneaking around like a thief?"

"I'm wearing sixty pounds of armor and gear," he said in annoyance. "If you didn't hear me coming, it was because you were too busy arguing with your  _lover_." Aela's eyes went wild as she bared her teeth at him, and he squeezed his eyes shut to brace himself for the smack he knew was coming. It rang off his helmet, not causing any harm, but he got the point.

She snarled, "He isn't my lover, and he isn't going to be! Shor's bones, he's old enough to be my father!"

"All right, all right," he sighed. "I know he isn't actually-"

"It was one time, and it was only because your brother and his mate couldn't keep their damn paws off each other after the hunt!"

"But-"

"Right in front of us, for Dibella's sake! They were going at it as if we weren't even there!"

Vilkas' nose wrinkled, and he asked with a touch of snideness, "Did you try not watching?"

"You try not watching!"

A snort slipped out, and Aela raised her hand to hit him again. He lifted his hands to ward her off, chuckling as she settled for smacking him on the upper arm instead. "Really Aela," he drawled, "for this being a one time thing you seem rather agitated about it."

"I am  _sick_ of the males in this house," she declared. "All four of you can burn in Oblivion for all I care." She stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Vilkas snorted again, shaking his head as he began stripping off his armor. Better to try to find something amusing about all this than to be utterly disgusted by his brother and Edric. No, he was still disgusted with both of them, no matter how entertaining Aela's fussing was. He knew as well as anyone how the blood ran hot after a hunt, and sure, the two had been separated for over a week, and how long it had been since either of them had hunted was anyone's guess…

He grumbled and shook himself in distaste, finding his anger over it all subsiding. He was annoyed, and found it rather gross, what had apparently happened, but he could hardly blame any of the parties involved. True wolves mated only once a year, but werewolves weren't true wolves. They couldn't escape their humanity while in wolf form any more than they could set the beast aside while human. They were a mix of the two, not fully one or the other.

No, he wasn't angry about anything that had gone on the night of the hunt. And there was the bond. There was no forgetting that. No matter how unpalatable he found it all, the beastblood was the Circle's reality. The thought of what he might have done if he had been there last night made shivers go up his spine.

And after all, there were plenty of other things to be angry about, namely Edric doing whatever he damn well pleased. That Farkas seemed to be able to bring him into line was only a small satisfaction.

He kept to himself the rest of the afternoon, and when dinner came he was glad to see Skjor and Edric's redheaded foundling wasn't present at the Companions' dinner table. That would have been intolerable. Vilkas kept to himself at mealtime as well, as far from Edric as he could get, only acknowledged as far as Farkas and later Skjor gripping his shoulder as they passed. That...helped. Not being ignored. Showing the others that he was still accepted, no matter how difficult he was. It was only Ria, really, with the other two whelps gone, and he didn't look her way, sparing her. No matter how it angered him that it had come to this, he knew it was his own doing, and the thought that he terrified the girl didn't sit well at all.

"Ahh."

Vilkas looked up from staring broodily at the fire to see Lucia shyly presenting something to Skjor, Tilma hanging back and watching with a look of affection on her face. The girl was clearly nervous but not frightened, and the expression of delight on the Harbinger's face seemed to reassure her.

"Where'd you find this, lass?" the old man asked as he took the item from her, a wooden board with carved lines on it, with a wooden box sitting on top.

"Mistress Carlotta gave it to me," she mumbled. "She said it was her husband's and they used to play, but...she doesn't want to play anymore. I remember...Mama and Papa used to play tabula. Mistress Tilma says she remembers you and Vignar, Jarl Vignar, playing it, once upon a time."

A fond smile creased the Harbinger's face. "That we did. Used to be up until all hours sometimes." He ran his hand over the board. "Wouldn't mind playing again. I'd need a partner though."

"I don't know how to play either. I just thought...I thought you'd like it, sir. I...um…" Lucia looked at Tilma, who smiled at her encouragingly. "I appreciate…what you've done for me."

"No need," Skjor murmured, laying a gentle hand on the girl's shoulder. "Everyone here had a hand in it. You've been a help in this hall, lass, not a burden. But thank you for this." He raised his voice a bit and called down the table. "Edric."

The Dragonborn had watched the entire thing, and Vilkas was taken aback to see that while Edric's expression was neutral Farkas was gazing at him with concern. The bond. Always the bond. It seemed deeply intrusive, beyond being able to feel another's strong feelings. It left the other partner without any emotional privacy. Edric didn't look upset in the slightest, but he had to be if Farkas was worried.

Edric nodded and answered, "Aye, I know how to play."

"I thought as much," Skjor said. "You'll have to refresh my memory. It's been a few years." The Dragonborn got up from his seat, and Lucia's hands clasped together as she fidgeted. Skjor pushed his plate and drink aside and set down the board, saying to the girl, "Just about everyone in the Legion learns the game."

Lucia mumbled, "Mama and Papa both were in the Legion. They met there."

"People do." Edric pulled up a chair, and the Harbinger murmured, "You're good with this?"

"This isn't a problem," the younger man answered. He opened the box and poured out the playing pieces and two dice. "I'll take green." The two men sorted out the glass pieces, and Edric looked sidelong at the girl, who fidgeted under his gaze. "I could teach you to play." Her eyes darted to Skjor. "You and your friend. What's her name?"

"Mila," Lucia whispered. "Sir. Um-"

"No sir. No Dragonborn or Dovahkiin. Not when we share a roof." He turned his attention back to the board. "Think about it."

Skjor patted the girl on the shoulder and offered, "Give me a game or two with the pup here and I'll show you how to play. Winters can be long and dull sometimes here in Jorrvaskr. I'll have the time." Edric glanced up at the Harbinger from under his eyebrows, and Skjor stared back, then Edric's eyebrows lifted briefly and he lowered his eyes again to the board to begin placing his pieces. "Pull up a chair," Skjor said to the girl. "We'll explain it as we go, how about that?"

Vilkas watched the byplay between the Harbinger and the Dragonborn with confusion. Something unspoken had passed between the two men. The moment was over however, and soon the girl had brought over a seat to watch, then Farkas and Ria, and then even Aela joined the group, her temper from earlier seemingly over with for now. No one drank around Edric, Vilkas noticed with irritation, Skjor having pushed his mug away.

Tilma came by and leaned down to squeeze his shoulders, saying with warm happiness, "Isn't this nice? Just like it used to be in the hall. Though...smaller numbers."

"Aye," he said in agreement. It was pleasant, he couldn't deny that. He planned to stay out of it and keep it that way.

"He's such a good Harbinger. A good man. Kodlak did right in choosing him. Between him and Edric we'll get things straightened out again, you'll see. We'll get some new blood in and build the numbers back up so we're not all rattling about like this. Bring some life back to the hall."

"Aye." He left it at that, not about to ruin her good mood. If Edric got his way, as he usually did, it wouldn't be long at all before every random fool who thought he could swing a blade would come knocking at their doors. Granted, the notion of having to face off against the Dragonborn would scare off a lot of potential recruits, and the ones that gained his approval would be fewer still. Vilkas could admit that much.

Tilma gave him another squeeze then went on her way, and Vilkas stayed put, picking at the remains of dinner and drinking, enjoying what he could of the camaraderie in the hall while being separate from it. The girl eventually relaxed a little, enough to giggle in a childishly charming way when Skjor or Farkas teased her, and while Edric was quiet at first he spoke more as the game went on, the Harbinger and the Dragonborn sharing their happier memories from their time in the Legion while Lucia listened eagerly, perhaps thinking of her dead parents.

Talk turned to the New Life Festival taking place early next week, and Vignar's wish to make a proper party of it after years of no one wishing to celebrate around a dead tree. Vilkas had already seen a few unfamiliar faces in the city on his way up to Jorrvaskr earlier today, probably pilgrims here to see the reborn Gildergreen and stay for the celebration. He was leery of the number of strangers in town, some of whom had shifty eyes and had stared at the four of them a little too long as they moved through the city, at least in his opinion. But what could he say to anyone about it without sounding paranoid? He didn't even trust himself anymore, unable to know what was true and what was due to his frustrated beast making his mind turn in circles.

Perhaps during the New Life Festival he could finally enjoy himself, just a little. He had always spent that night out in the city, listening to the music, dancing a bit, and finding company for the evening with a festival-goer that would be on their way again the next morning. Happier times. There was no way he would allow himself to get drunk this year, or foist himself upon some poor woman, or even another man at this point. He was no fit partner for anyone, not for sex or drinking or dancing, if he could even bring himself to dance anymore.

Still, the music would be good, if he was understanding Edric's hint that he had hired extra bards to come play. As Thane here, perhaps Vignar had put some responsibility for the festival upon Edric's shoulders. Vilkas found this nearly as laughable as asking him to plan a party, as unsociable as the Dragonborn often was. He could only imagine Edric's expression, being asked to take charge of the celebration, if he had been.

The dog lifted his head and woofed, then one of Jorrvaskr's front doors opened, startling Vilkas and instantly putting him on edge. Two strangers came through the door and the Companion began to rise from his seat as Meeko jumped to his feet and barked again. All the Circle tensed, leery of unfamiliar folk entering their home. The young woman looked harmless, a thin Nord with mousy blond hair. She would have been pretty if she didn't look drawn out and paler than most of their kinfolk, dark circles under her eyes and her cheeks hollow.

It was the man with her that was the dangerous one. Vilkas knew that without a doubt from only a glance. He carried a glass war axe and was fully armored in Nordic carved armor, in his late forties or early fifties, with a large mustache. From under the bear helm his hazel eyes scanned the room in the way only an experienced warrior's would, sizing up everyone in it, then they landed on the Dragonborn and stayed there. Edric shoved his chair back with a growl of aggravation and the man's chin lifted as he firmed up his stance.

"What in Oblivion are you doing here?" Edric barked, and the resonance of it made Lucia peep in fear then jump up from her seat and scamper to the kitchen. The man bowed deeply, and Edric walked towards him and snapped, "I told you to stay in Morthal!"

He straightened up and stated, "To be fair, my lord, you ordered me to not follow you to Whiterun. I didn't." His gaze moved to Farkas. "Is that not so, Companion?" Farkas grimaced but didn't answer. Edric's entire body vibrated with anger, and the man went on, "The young lady needed an escort-"

"My baby," she whimpered. She ran forward then fell to her knees at Edric's feet, her hands going together in a pleading motion. "Please, I did what you wanted, Dovahkiin! I need to see my baby!" Edric's eyes pulled away from the warrior, his gaze going to the woman. "Please!" she begged, her voice breaking.

"Get up," Edric ordered, and though his tone had gentled it still held the thu'um in it. "Your baby is fine. But you know what I have to do." She nodded, squeezing her eyes shut.

Edric gathered brilliant yellow-tinged magic into his hands, and Vilkas gasped then began moving forward to stop him. Surely the bastard wasn't going to kill the woman right here in front of everyone. Surely-

The Dragonborn threw the sunlit magic at her and it fizzled out harmlessly, and she let out a shuddering breath and opened her eyes. The warrior came up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder, holding Edric's eyes as he said, "She's clean, my lord. Falion swears it, and he knows his business. There's no wagons in or out of Morthal this time of year. I took pity on the lass and accompanied her here, once she was healthy enough to travel. She wouldn't have made it back otherwise."

Edric grunted, eyes narrowed, then he looked at the woman again. His voice softened further as he asked, "What's your name?"

"Hert, milord," she whispered. She swallowed, her eyes darting to Farkas. "My husband's name was Hern." Farkas frowned, looking guilty.

Edric nodded. "I'll put on my boots then take you to your son," he stated. "Wait for me by the Gildergreen." He added to the mustached man in a tart tone, "Both of you." Hert nodded vigorously, her fingers twined together, trying to smile and failing, then hurried out the door. The man bowed to the Dragonborn with pursed lips then followed her. Edric turned enough to cast an accusing look at Vilkas, then he turned his back on him and headed for the downstairs, Farkas on his heels.

Vilkas felt something wet against his hand, and he yanked it away and looked down to see Meeko grinning at him, slobbery tongue hanging out. It was obvious what the dog wanted, and Vilkas hesitated then patted him on the head. "Good, eh...boy," he muttered. Even with what they were, the dog's senses were greater than theirs. Still, they should be locking the doors at night. He couldn't be the only one here who saw the sense in that. Most people had to know that all the warriors slept downstairs. Food and coin and drink were lying all about, and there were good-quality weapons hanging on the walls as well. It had been decades since any thief had been bold enough to try to rob the Companions, but if it had happened before it might happen again.

So the woman, Hert, was the vampire woman Edric and Farkas had taken the little boy from. Clearly the cure worked, though obviously at some cost to the woman's health. And whatever it had cost Torvar.

Vilkas suppressed a shudder of horror and absentmindedly petted the dog. Better to just not think about that. He didn't want to think about that one bit.

**Farkas**

"This is great," Farkas said as he pulled on his boots. "It really worked."

"So it did," Edric murmured. "I have to admit, I had my doubts. Falion knows his stuff, just as Valdimar said, but he never said whether he had tested it on an actual subject."

"Maybe she was the subject. She looked pretty rough." Valdimar had said she'd had to wait to travel until she was healthy again, so how much worse had she looked right after she was cured?

"I'm certain it wasn't a pleasant experience by anyone's standards." Edric groaned. "Fucking Valdimar. I'll never get rid of him now."

Farkas kept his opinion on that to himself. He thought the housecarl should stay, but Edric already knew that.

Then he heard his husband cackle in delight. Edric launched himself off the bed then snatched his map case up off the side table. "I've got the perfect job for him," he stated with a grin. Farkas looked wary, and Edric laughed, "He's going to hate it."

Farkas didn't doubt that. When his man's eyes brightened and he laughed like that, he was up to no good. Still, he liked seeing Edric laugh, and maybe whatever it was wouldn't be too bad and would be fair to Valdimar. The guy was just trying to do his job, which he obviously took really seriously. Edric probably frustrated him to no end.

He didn't ask what the job was, but Edric took the map with him. They threw on cloaks as well, the weather getting colder than even what a Nord could tolerate comfortably.

He kept quiet as they met Valdimar and Hert by the tree, the woman so anxious that she was pacing. It had to be hard, being separated from her baby for so long, trusting Eivind's care to strangers, even if the strangers were Companions and one of them Dragonborn. No one said much of anything as they went down to the Plains District, Hert at Edric's other side and Valdimar taking up the rear.

Warmaiden's was closed up for the night, but Ulfberth answered the door within a couple minutes. The look that crossed his face was sad, and Farkas could understand why he was disappointed. Eivind was awfully cute, and had fit in well with the family here. Still, hearing the toddler scream "Mama!" in surprise and run for Hert mattered more, and the poor woman broke down sobbing when she held her baby in her arms. That was enough to get pretty much anyone teary-eyed. Even Edric was having trouble keeping his feelings in check.

Then she was gushing all over the Dragonborn, weeping as she thanked and blessed him and so on, and Farkas could feel the twinges of the discomfort his man was feeling, though Edric was gracious about it. Adrianne and Ulfberth offered to let Hert stay with them for a while, which was nice, really nice. Hert could figure out what to do after that. She couldn't exactly go back to the mill by herself. Farkas didn't know much about running a lumber mill, not much at all, but he was pretty sure you couldn't run one alone, even without a kid to take care of.

They left Warmaiden's as quickly as Edric could manage, which was pretty damn quick, then he crooked his finger at Valdimar and ordered, "Follow me."

The older man did so with a nod, though Farkas could see the suspicion in the housecarl's eyes. For not having spent much time around each other, Valdimar seemed to have a pretty good read on his master. Farkas thought that was a good thing. Housecarls were supposed to be dedicated to the Jarls and Thanes that they guarded, and Valdimar was, and Farkas found it a little unfair how Edric viewed that. Sure, he felt really guilty about the deaths of two of his housecarls, and didn't want to be responsible for another one, but all Valdimar wanted to do was his job and Edric wasn't letting him.

They went next door to Breezehome and Edric let them inside with the key, which was probably the only thing that kept Erik from coming at them, the kid halfway there with a great-sword in his hand. Farkas had to admit after working with him earlier today that Erik had promise. He would've made a good addition to the Companions if that was what he wanted to do, but he didn't, so that was that.

Edric looked around Breezehome and saw how tidy it was and gave Erik a nod of approval, which the redhead glowed under. It did look a lot better in here, and Edric had said that the kid had cleaned out the cellar and killed all the spiders down there, which was great, and had stored all the dragon remains down there. There was a mannequin against one wall of the living area that held Edric's ebony armor, and a plaque above it held the purple dragon-killing sword, Dragonbane. Edric had told him that it really wasn't that powerful a sword, except when hunting dragons, and even then there were better ways of doing it that didn't involve getting in close. Farkas had to admit that the sword looked really cool though, and Edric said it was from ancient Akavir, so that was pretty interesting.

"My Thane," Valdimar began.

Edric cut him off, saying in mock excitement, "Have I got a job for you, Valdimar!"

" _My Thane_ ," Valdimar repeated more forcefully. "Please listen to reason."

"I'm not going there with you," the Dragonborn stated, voice tinged with irritation. "Could I use a housecarl? Yes. Yes, I could, because I can't heal. I  _will_  need a housecarl, a bodyguard, when I'm no longer with the Companions. But I'm with the Companions. I'm always with the Companions."

"Are you?"

There really wasn't any getting things past Valdimar, that was for sure, and Edric's lips flattened out in displeasure. "Often enough." The housecarl blew out a breath and slowly shook his head, his eyes closed. Edric said with less annoyance, "I'm sorry. I'm being a shit about this, I know. That doesn't change anything. I  _cannot_ tolerate having a housecarl underfoot right now. I can't. This is  _my_ time, do you understand?" He motioned to Farkas. " _Our_  time. It's enough that I still answer to Vignar and help people where they need it, like that woman and her kid. That's all anyone is going to get out of me right now, and I don't need a housecarl dogging my steps reminding me of anything more than that."

Valdimar scowled as he stated, "Protecting you is my duty, my lord. A sacred duty. How do I explain to Jarl Sorli, to Lady Idgrod, to anyone, if you come to harm or die because I wasn't allowed to fulfill my duties?"

"Tell them I'm a stubborn asshole who wouldn't let you. It's the truth."

Farkas felt bad for the guy, really bad, because Valdimar was so frustrated that he looked ready to explode. "Edie," he murmured.

"I'm not going to have people in my space that I don't want in my space,  _miingi_. I like my space."

"I know you do," he soothed. Farkas counted himself lucky that he was the one person that Edric never minded having around. He knew Edric liked being alone at times, being left in his own head with silence so he could think whatever it was that he thought, and Farkas was a quiet guy and didn't mind silence either, so it worked for them. He knew Edric didn't like people pushing him, pressing him. Didn't like having obligations put on him against his will. He didn't like  _anything_ being done against his will. But there had to be some room for budging a little.

Edric huffed, and after a moment he asked Valdimar, "You want to serve me, then?"

Valdimar's eyes narrowed and he replied in a careful tone, "I want to  _protect_ you, Thane. I swore I would protect you with my life."

"Aye, I do recall you saying that. You said you'd be my sword and my shield. You also said you were sworn to carry my burdens."

The housecarl's eyes narrowed further. Farkas really felt bad for the guy. He honestly did. Erik was watching the whole thing from the other side of the fire pit, staying perfectly quiet like he was trying to not draw any attention to himself, his bright blue eyes darting between the two men as they spoke.

Edric went on, "I have a very important task that I'd like to have done before I leave in the spring." He waved the map case. "I have caches all over Skyrim-"

"Shor's bones!" Valdimar exploded, yanking off his helmet. "You're sending me on your errands? Just send me back to Morthal if you want so badly to get rid of me!"

Farkas' eyes widened and he heard a soft  _ooh_ of dread from Erik. Edric however was looking way too amused by the older man's anger. So that was his husband's plan: to send his housecarl all over hell and gone gathering up his caches. Farkas could see why that plan appealed to Edric, but it seemed a poor use of the guy's time, having him do that. But it would kill two birds with one stone: get the Dragonborn's belongings picked up and get Valdimar out of his hair. Still, it wasn't nice. Edric wasn't always nice, though. You could love someone and know that sometimes they weren't very nice at all.

It was ballsy though, Valdimar getting angry at his Thane. Farkas didn't know of too many people who had the guts to get that angry with Edric and show it. Vilkas did, way too often, but only because he didn't have the sense not to.

"I'll do it, Dragonborn," Erik offered brightly.

Edric stated, "I am  _not_ sending you out and getting you killed. And you would get killed, mark my words. You can't even protect yourself against Ria yet." The young man grumbled but didn't argue that very valid point. Edric turned back to Valdimar, who was fuming. "I'm being shitty and unfair to you, and believe it or not I'm sorry." The housecarl looked like he didn't believe it at all. "So that's my offer: do this thing for me, which I very much need to get done, or go back to Morthal." Valdimar glared at him, and Edric added, "I'm not good at compromising, Valdimar. Not good at all. It's a fault of mine, really."

The housecarl muttered, "I'll do it. Thane." He just about spit out the last word.

"Good. Thank you." At least Edric's tone had lost any flippancy. He walked to the back of the house, where the dining table was, and Valdimar followed, looking as if he'd swallowed a bug. Erik sidled up as Edric took out his map then unrolled it. "I've carried this map for four years," Edric explained. "On it I've marked word walls, caves, ruins, giant camps, spriggan groves, dragon lairs, you name it. I've also marked the spots where I've stored treasure. Here. Here." He pointed to several diamond-shaped markers scattered across Skyrim. "The ones that are crossed out I've already collected and brought here, but this house isn't big enough to hold even a fraction of what I've got."

"Wow," Erik breathed.

Valdimar said in a tight voice, "You've got caches in the giant camps, my Thane. I'm not touching those. I'll not harm the creatures, and I have no skill in illusion magic."

"Fair enough," Edric conceded. "How do you feel about frost trolls?"

"I'm better with frost magic, but I know a few fire spells. I'll manage."

"Good to hear." He tapped his finger on a weird, masklike icon in the mountains to the northwest of Whiterun.

"You must be joking," Valdimar muttered.

"If it helps, I think Vilkas cleared most of them out."

Labyrinthian. Farkas realized that was where Edric was pointing. The idea of Edric  _not_ having a cache there would be odd.

"Actually, yes, it does," the housecarl admitted.

"In my house in Markarth, I have an artifact. A wooden mask. There's a round building at the center of the city. Inside is a room with a ruined set of busts. If you put on the mask there, it will transport you… Huh, I don't really know how to put this. The wooden mask is a key. When you put it on, inside that room, you don't leave the room, but it takes you...back. In time, I think. There's no way in or out in the past, so it's secure. More secure than any other cache I have." He straightened up, and Valdimar was studying the map, his irritation gone, replaced with curiosity. Edric murmured, "Eventually I'll sell Vlindrel Hall, in Markarth, and Hjerim in Windhelm, but in the meantime, I'd like you to consolidate the caches into those two homes and Labyrinthian. Or Bromjunaar, I suppose. It was probably still Bromjunaar then.  _Brom jun aar_. The Northern Kingdom, when the dragons ruled."

There was a long silence, then Erik blurted, "I want to go with you." Valdimar didn't answer, stroking his mustache as he gazed at the map. Erik went up and down on his tiptoes as he turned to Edric and pleaded, "Please, Dragonborn. Uh, Edric. I could help. I'll carry things. I'll do anything he asks."

"It's up to Valdimar. You aren't his responsibility."

"Pardon me for saying so, but I'm not yours either. Uh, sir." Edric barked out a laugh and nodded. Erik said to the housecarl, "I swear I'll stay out of the way. I'm a good shot with a bow, I can hunt and clean game and do the cooking."

The housecarl finally fixed his gaze on the young man, and after staring at him for a moment he said in a tired tone, "I have no idea who you are, lad."

"I'll let you two sort things out," Edric stated in a tone of satisfaction, then he took Farkas' hand and led him to the stairs.

As they went up, Farkas said, "So, Labyrinthian, huh."

"Mm-hm. It occurred to me a couple nights ago while Ria and I were sitting in the whelps' quarters, talking. Just...talking, about a million different things. The places I've seen. The Legion. Her family, my mother, you, Vilkas. She flat out asked me what's wrong with him. Really didn't know what to say at first."

Bewildered, Farkas asked, "What uh...what did you say?" Edric took him into the main bedroom and shut the door, though it was little privacy. You could see the light from downstairs coming up through the floorboards and hear Erik and Valdimar talking, clear as day.

"I didn't lie to her. I won't lie." Edric held Farkas' hand in both his own, running his thumbs over the bigger man's knuckles. He whispered, barely loud enough for even the two of them to hear, "We were going to have to come up with something, eventually. For when he's cured. His eyes will turn blue again." He took in a deep breath. "Skjor and I worked this out, while we were gone. We worked out a lot of things. He trusts that he doesn't have long. He's made his peace with that. After he goes, a spot in the Circle will open up. Athis isn't quite ready for the responsibility, but soon. We'll see how this trip with Njada goes."

Farkas swallowed and nodded. This had sure come out of nowhere, but with Edric things often did.

"I ah...don't have a good feeling about leaving Jorrvaskr,  _miingi_ ," he whispered. "I don't have a good feeling at all. But I have to go. I keep praying in Kynareth's temple, and the more I pray the worse it feels. She's rejecting me, beyond denying me her grace. Before long I won't be welcome in the temple at all. I'm not giving up, though. I refuse to. So I'm going to the Throat of the World. She'll have no choice but to hear me there. The leader of the Greybeards might not help me, but I don't think he'll try to stop me either." He squeezed Farkas' hand then looked up at him, an earnest expression on his face. "Keep Meeko with you at night? For me?"

"Don't go," Farkas demanded, his voice shaking. He didn't get scared often, but he was scared now. Not so much for himself, but for the others. For Skjor. He didn't want to see the things that he had known were coming for weeks finally happening. He suddenly remembered Edric's words the day Kodlak died, about getting caught in an avalanche, seeing it coming towards you and not being able to get out of its path. This was it. The avalanche was coming and Edric had no intention of trying to stop it. Maybe not even the Dragonborn could do that.

"I have to." Edric's expression tightened. "It's that certain feeling that I can't ignore. I feel I have to go to the mountain. Now, before Kynareth shuts me out permanently. I feel I have to leave, even if something bad will happen. The bad is going to happen either way, but my leaving will…" He made a thoughtful humming sound. "It's a controlled sort of bad. It will push things to a manageable conclusion." He kissed Farkas' knuckles. "Spend some time with Skjor, you and Vilkas. After I go. Keep Aela and the whelps home, once Njada and Athis get back. Keep Tilma and little Lucia safe. I'll talk to Skjor tonight, make sure he understands and promises to keep everyone in Jorrvaskr. And keep the damn dog with you, all right?"

Farkas nodded, his throat tight. "Sure honey."

His voice still feather soft, Edric looked down at their joined hands. "I told Ria the truth: the Circle is cursed. Didn't tell her how, or why, not fully. I told her the Circle became cursed for power, centuries ago, and that the silver eyes are a mark of that. I told her I joined the Circle to break the curse, but at the cost of taking it on myself. And it's the truth, partly. After Skjor dies, I'll be Harbinger, and the curse will end with me, though I only told her the latter part. No more silver eyes." He took in a deep breath then slowly let it out. "She was horrified, and rightly so. Wanted specifics and I wouldn't give them. She took what I gave and promised to keep it to herself for now. I told her that Vilkas is fighting the curse, and he is. I tried to help her have a little more sympathy for him, so things aren't hopeless once he's cured. It'll be on him at that point to fix what he's broken, but she'll have it in mind at least."

Farkas let go of his husband's hands, and Edric let him go. He went to the bed and sank down on the edge of it then put his head in his hands.

Edric sighed and went to a safe next to the dresser, something that hadn't been there before the four of them went after the Silver Hand the day after Farkas and Vilkas' birthday. He cast a spell at the safe and unlocked it, removing something then locking it back up, then he sat down next to Farkas and leaned into him. "I'm sorry to put this on you," he murmured.

"I asked for it," Farkas mumbled. "Shit, how do you do it?"

"Manage, you mean?" Edric shrugged. "By understanding my place in the world, I suppose," he said in a resigned tone. "I'm only one person. I can't stop every bad thing from happening. Oftentimes all I can do is nudge things a little, manage a situation as best I can. That's all I can do here: give the Silver Hand the perfect opening and hope they take it. Minimize the damage."

The New Life Festival. Pilgrims and festival-goers in town. All the strangers in the streets that he'd noticed in a roundabout way but had dismissed. After all, he had grown up here and this happened every year, or had before the tree died. The Silver Hand was here. In Whiterun. In the city. Now. Right now.

By the Nine, the Silver Hand were  _here in the city_.

Edric murmured, "I need you to keep it together, love. I need it very, very badly."

"Okay," he croaked. "Just… I just need a few minutes." He was just short of panicking, and Edric had to be feeling it from him.

"Aye." He stood then leaned over and kissed the top of Farkas' head then went downstairs, calm as can be.

Farkas rubbed his hands over his face, trying desperately to do what Edric wanted. He understood why. He wasn't dumb. He wasn't. He could demand that Edric alert the city guard and close the gates, so they could question every single stranger in town where Edric could see and know if they were lying, maybe even have him do that shout that bent people's wills. But the moment the guards started acting oddly and closed the gates the Silver Hand would go on alert, and it would be a bloodbath. They wouldn't care who they took down with them. They'd never cared.

Better to do it Edric's way, lull the hunters into thinking no one knew they were here, let them blend in with the pilgrims and wait for Edric to leave. The whole city knew that Vignar was having the Great Porch cleared, so…

Oh.  _Ohhh_.

Edric was doing that so that there would be no doubt in the Silver Hand's mind that the Dragonborn was truly gone from the city with no chance of coming back any time soon. They'd be able to see Edric flying up to the mountain from nearly anywhere in the city. This was what they were waiting for, maybe what they'd been waiting for since Edric joined the Companions. The festival was the perfect time for them to enter the city unnoticed, but they'd be leery of tangling with the Dragonborn, so they'd wait for him to leave. Farkas didn't doubt that Edric's need to leave was very real, but it was the timing of it that was important. He had to leave now to draw the Silver Hand into attacking Jorrvaskr, which would free up Edric from his promise to Kodlak and let him hunt them down for good. Otherwise this might get drawn out forever.

Okay. He could deal with this. Now that he understood why things were happening this way, he could manage. Barely. He was frankly kind of proud of himself for figuring this out, and when he gathered himself together and went downstairs he saw pride shining from his husband's pretty eyes, from where he stood at the table with Erik and Valdimar. Edric was  _proud_ of him. Gods, but that felt good.

Edric held up two keys, each with a leather tag, then handed them to Valdimar. "The Markarth house, and the Windhelm house," he said. "I'll write notes of permission in case anyone hassles you. I'm leaving in the morning-"

"On a dragon," Erik said with excitement. "Can I come watch?"

"Sure, why not."

Erik clenched his fists in front of him. "Yes!"

Edric clapped the younger man on the shoulder. "I'd like you to hold off leaving until after the New Life Festival. You and Valdimar. Too many strangers in town who know this is my house, you know?"

"No problem," Erik said with a nod, serious again. "No one's getting past Erik the Slayer, Dragonborn. You have my word."

Valdimar frowned then his eyes flicked over to Farkas, who shrugged with raised eyebrows. If the kid wanted to call himself Erik the Slayer, who were they to say? It sounded ridiculous, sure, but the guy couldn't be a day over twenty, twenty-two tops. Farkas liked his spirit and hoped he would be able to hang onto it. If he had after what he'd been through so far, it was pretty likely.

Valdimar asked Edric, "I could show the lad a few things. Keep up his training."

"That would be deeply appreciated," Edric said in a gracious tone. He tapped the map. "All I ask is that this comes back to me in one piece. We've been through alot together."

"Aye, Thane. I'll see if I can find another map in town instead, mark that one up."

"I'll write up a promissory note as well before I leave. Horses, gear, whatever you think you'll need."

"Aye, my Thane. I brought a horse of my own, but the lad-"

"Slayer," Erik interjected.

Valdimar scoffed, "Shor's balls, boy, I'm not calling you that."

Edric patted them both on the shoulders, saying, "We'll work out more details when I get back. Details about where the caches are hidden, all that. Be up at Jorrvaskr by ten tomorrow morning if you want to see me off." The two murmured their assent, then Edric grabbed his man by the wrist and gently pulled him out of the house.

As they made their way down the street, they drew their cloaks around them to stay warm as Farkas tried not to look at anyone around them too closely. "Slayer, huh," he said in amusement. Better to focus on other things than that the city was full of murderers.

"Cute, isn't it," Edric replied in kind. "I thought Skjor was going to implode from how hard he was holding it in when the kid first said it. Neither of us were about to mock him for it, or anything else. It's empowering or something. There's worse nicknames."

"Yeah."

He took his husband's hand as they walked home. He'd find some way to deal with what was coming. He had to. Not dealing with it wasn't an option, and he wasn't one to stay down for long. It was Vilkas he worried about. Always Vilkas. The loss of their forebear would be a hard blow, especially so soon after Kodlak's death, and it would be one less person that Vilkas minded.

Farkas was more scared of how his twin would handle this than anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a lot of fun to write. I just updated last week, but this one came pretty easily, and there was that four month dry spell, so here you go.


	45. Chapter 45

_A continuation of the last chapter, later that evening._

**Vilkas**

"And so you just left him there?" Aela asked, appalled, hands on her hips as she glared at the two men across the stone basin. Skjor and Edric didn't reply, looking only slightly sheepish. "You two left a feral werewolf free to roam a heavily traveled road, and you're just  _now_  bothering to tell us? Where were your goddamn brains?"

Vilkas muttered, "One must wonder." He'd had no idea that the Harbinger and the Dragonborn had come across sign of what must have been Sinding along the west road. If he'd known such a thing when the two had returned he would have insisted that the pack, no, the Circle, immediately go out and rectify the situation. It was only scant comfort that Aela hadn't been told either.

Edric stated, "I'm not convinced that he's feral."

"He's prowling the roads! I don't care what he is, he didn't keep his word!"

Skjor replied, "We were on a time-sensitive mission, sister. We also saw no sign that he had been hunting even game along the road. For all we know the poor bastard crosses it only to hunt the plains. There haven't been any missing persons reports, no rumors circulating. As for why we didn't tell you and Vilkas before now, there wasn't time to deal with Sinding before the Circle headed to Lost Knife Hideout." Aela turned accusing eyes on Farkas, and Skjor stated, "Even if Farkas knew, it doesn't change anything."

Aela shook her head, a look of severe disapproval on her face. "Then we're going out after him," she stated, "right after Edric leaves."

"And I say we're not. Not yet."

The Huntress looked at Skjor as if he'd lost his mind, and Edric said, "I'll deal with Sinding myself when I get back. He's my responsibility."

"This is pack business," she growled. "A rogue wolf is roaming our territory. I was never fine with him being allowed to live, let alone in our hold, but  _you_ swore he wouldn't be any trouble, and I took you at your word."

"I can't be right 100 percent of the time."

"And when you're wrong, you're spectacularly wrong."

He recoiled and clutched at his chest. "Ouch," he whined. Aela wasn't amused in the slightest. No one was.

Farkas spoke up and said, "Maybe Sinding's only traveling the road at night. Sniffing around. He's probably lonely."

"Oh boo hoo," Aela said without sympathy. "He's a child-killer. He  _dismembered_  the girl, ice brains-"

"Hey," Edric warned, any trace of humor gone. Aela held up her hands and inclined her head in apology. "He killed the girl at Hircine's behest. The Lord of the Hunt pushed him into it with that ring." He pointed at Vilkas, who scowled at the unwelcome attention. "Hircine caused that girl's death, directly or indirectly it doesn't matter. The death of a child isn't sporting or fair."

Aela warned in a lowered voice, "We're in his sacred space, brother. This is the worst possible place to speak ill of our master."

"He isn't  _my_ master, and this place is sacred to him only because the Circle made it that way. This place belonged to Kyne first, an earth-womb, and it's been defiled."

Aela went pale as Skjor stiffened and Farkas sucked in a breath between his teeth, and even Vilkas had to gape in sheer astonishment that Edric would give voice to such a sentiment, especially here in the Underforge.

And yet…and yet what if it were true? The Dragonborn's words rang true, and Vilkas didn't know what to do with that. He knew little of the Divines, was really only tangentially familiar with Kynareth due to simple proximity, but he knew of hunters who revered Kyne, and others who chose to still follow her ancient ways. He'd heard what he'd thought were tall tales of Kyne's worshipers performing rituals in caves, some of them fertility rituals. It wasn't as if he hadn't wondered a dozen times himself over the years what the Underforge had been used for before the Circle turned to Hircine, because it had surely been here as long as or longer than the hawk that overlooked the Skyforge, long before Whiterun was founded by the crew of the Jorrvaskr. With this city being sacred to Kynareth, it should have occurred to him years ago that the Underforge might also have been sacred to her, once upon a time.

Edric smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "But that's a tale for another day," he said. "I'll deal with Sinding on my own when I get back. He trusts me. The whole pack goes after him and it will end up being a full-blown hunt."

"It  _should_ be a hunt," Aela stated defiantly.

"I stopped that once before. I'll stop it again. But more nicely this time."

Aela stared at him while Skjor looked uncomfortable, and she finally muttered, "What on Nirn is going on with you?"

"I'm pressed for time and don't want to spend it debating. Sinding is my responsibility, even if I made the choice to spare him in ignorance. You want to turn it into some kind of gift to the Lord of the-"

"And just what is wrong with that?" she retorted.

Edric gripped the edges of the stone font, holding Aela's eyes over it. "Because Sinding is  _mine_. Hircine gave his life to me as surely as Vignar gave me Torvar's."

The Huntress looked as if she was going to argue the point, but Edric didn't back down, barely blinked as he held her gaze, in a way that any werewolf would find a challenge. Vilkas didn't particularly like the whelp's attitude, but Skjor wasn't taking him to task or backing up Aela. There was also the very simple fact that the Dragonborn wasn't entirely wrong. It was always aggravating to admit, and he always detested how Edric went about things, but the man wasn't wrong about this. He was being an asshole, as usual, but he wasn't entirely wrong: from what Vilkas understood of what had happened this summer, Hircine hadn't cared if Sinding lived or died, leaving the man's fate up to Edric. Hircine had wanted a hunt, and wanted the ring taken from Sinding, and Edric had accomplished both those tasks, and Hircine had let Sinding live.

He rubbed his thumb along the band of the ring, which suddenly felt too tight. It occurred to him that the ring was only helping him through Hircine's tolerance. The Lord of the Hunt could curse the ring again at any time, just as he had with Sinding, to teach Vilkas a lesson about spurning the so-called gift of lycanthropy. The thought was terrifying.

Sweat began to prickle across his skin as his gaze slid over to the cage against one wall. Would they bother to cage him if he went wild, or would Edric insist he be put down? If he turned in town the Circle would have no choice about it. His own pack members, his  _family_ , would kill him like a rabid dog in the streets, and rightly so.

He felt Skjor's hand come down on his shoulder, though his forebear didn't look at him. Farkas was at Edric's side, as he always was, and to Vilkas' surprise he was watching Skjor with glossy eyes, before drawing in a deep breath and tearing his gaze away.

The Harbinger's touch was calming, as it should be between pack members, especially between a forebear and the one they had made, though Edric and Aela were at odds now. Maybe she wasn't arguing any longer, but she was pissed for certain. Pissed at Edric, and not backing down. The challenge in the air between them was a palpable thing.

"Don't do it, sister," Edric murmured to her. She narrowed her eyes at him, her upper lip twitching. "It isn't worth it. Sinding isn't worth it."

Skjor said to Edric in tone of warning, "And strife in the pack isn't worth it either. There are better ways to go about this, lad. You know there are."

Vilkas couldn't help the feeling of warm satisfaction that went through him as Edric's expression tightened then his eyes slid away from Aela's, barely, just enough to avoid challenge without giving way completely. The tension in the Underforge immediately went down several notches.

Edric's manner was much less confrontational when he said to Aela, "I can track him down more easily than the pack could."

"Oh  _yes_ ," she drawled. "Magic is such an honorable way to track one's prey."

"He isn't prey. He's a man, no matter what else he is, a man who didn't keep his word and is a possible danger to the public. There's game enough in the hills behind the grotto that he didn't need to approach the road. For now he's probably no real threat, but it won't last. I'll go after him when I get back. If I think he's a danger I'll kill him, mercifully. If he isn't a danger, maybe we should consider finding him a pack to join."

Aela shook her head. "Doesn't work that way. Packs don't like absorbing rogues. No pack I know would accept an outsider who wasn't of their blood, and certainly none would accept a wolf who's a child-killer, no matter the reasons for it. We certainly wouldn't." Edric's mouth twisted as he lowered his eyes to the empty basin between them, and she blew out a long breath and watched him for several seconds, visibly debating whether to let go of her anger. She then moved around the font, looking at him for a moment again before putting her hand on his shoulder. "Look pup," she said in a tired tone, "I get that you feel responsible. So would I, if I were in your place. It's...charitable. But surely you knew when you let him live that sooner or later he would become a danger."

"No, actually I didn't," he muttered. "How in Oblivion was I supposed to know?"

"Well now you do." She squeezed his shoulder and leaned closer. "If you're dead set on this, you're taking one of us with you. Me, Farkas, doesn't matter. No way you're hunting on your own."

"I think I can handle one lone wolf."

Farkas grumbled, "You aren't going out alone. End of story." Edric looked peeved, and Farkas leaned against him and added, "Please, honey. I'd be worried sick the whole time. It's bad enough that I'm gonna have to watch you fly off to the top of a mountain without worrying about that too."

Edric relented, his shoulders dropping as his mate and forebear kept him hemmed in. "This really isn't fair," he murmured, looking as amused as he was irritated.

"We use what we've got," the Huntress replied without sympathy. "You're not hunting alone and that's final."

It  _wasn't_ fair. Vilkas found himself once again in the uncomfortable position of agreeing with Edric. Perhaps he should mark this day on a calendar. The Dragonborn looked a bit perplexed, as if he didn't quite understand what was happening to him, or knew and felt helpless against it and didn't like the fact that he could be manipulated in such a way. Edric was only being controlled because he was allowing it, in the interest of keeping the peace, Vilkas was sure of that, but it was still a case of his beast being used against him.

Edric huffed and said to Aela, "All right then, sister. You and I will go." She looked satisfied with that. "But it won't be a hunt or a chase or anything like that. If he isn't in his cave we'll track him down my way." He held out his hand and it briefly glowed pale blue, making the Huntress lean back from it, nose wrinkled.

"I... _suppose_. It isn't how we do things, but...you do what you do." She slapped him on the back. "Athis and Njada should be back tomorrow. Hopefully both alive and in one piece-"

Vilkas finally spoke up and groused, "It will be a miracle if they are." He fixed his gaze on Edric. "What were you thinking, sending those two on a job alone?"

Edric shrugged one shoulder. "I was thinking they're both fucking adults and had better act like it, and I told them so," he stated without apology. "They need to learn to get along or else."

"And yet they've proven time and again that they can't."

"You bitched about me joining the Circle ahead of Athis, so clearly you think he's competent. He's been a Companion for nine years. With a bit of encouragement and direction I think he'd be a good addition to the Circle, so he's clearly capable of running a job with a junior member, and Njada isn't that junior. If she can't overcome her prejudice enough to work with an elf then maybe she needs to find a different line of work. What if others join? We can't exactly be picky about the race of those who come here. It shouldn't be an issue regardless."

"Yes, about that," Vilkas said in annoyance. "The Companions don't advertise. As Aela said, this isn't how we do things!"

"And as she also said, this is how  _I_  do things. Just how low do you plan on letting our numbers get before doing something about it? What constitutes an emergency to you?"

" _Our_  numbers, you say."

Skjor cut in, "Edric is a Companion and a member of the Circle, and Jorrvaskr is his home. I don't like publicly admitting that we're in need, but he's right that we're at critically low numbers. We haven't gotten a new member in since Ria four years ago. Beggars can't be choosers, and though it stings to admit it, that's where we are." Vilkas fumed over that, glaring at nothing in particular, and Skjor added in a lowered voice, "I don't like that it came to this either, and I felt just as you do when the matter was brought up. But like it or not, Edric will be leaving here in four or five months and we'll be down to seven members, the lowest this hall has ever seen. We've  _got_ to get our shit together, even if it means using methods we haven't entertained before."

Into the long silence that stretched out after that statement, Farkas quietly said, "Change isn't always bad, Vilkas."

"I'm not a child," Vilkas retorted.

"It's just...you can't know that we've always done things a certain way. How can anyone know that?"

Vilkas stared at him, the anger melting away.

"Well said, brother," Skjor stated. "We can hold to our values while doing what we have to in order to survive. We need new blood, and we haven't exactly had recruits beating down our doors." He looked at Vilkas. "I saw the flyers that went out. Edric ran the first one by me to get my approval. I have no issue with how they were worded."

Vilkas hadn't either, to be honest, but he wasn't about to admit that. It was the fact that they had been sent out at all that bothered him. Yes, the Companions needed new blood. They shouldn't be operating without at least ten members: five in the Circle and five whelps. Ideally they should have all eight beds of the juniors' quarters filled at all times. Jobs were piling up and their guild was having to be choosy about which contracts they filled, with Vilkas an unwelcome partner to the juniors and with just enough brains to not run a job by himself again. The situation would only worsen after the bulk of Skyrim's warriors went south next year, including a number of hold guards and the freelance mercenaries that wandered the country. Funny how that was...they'd been starved for work while Edric traipsed about the country solving everyone's problems, but once he left they'd be overwhelmed. They already were.

Aela said, "Things are settled then. When Edric gets back, he and I will track down Sinding. I dislike the delay, but as long as something gets done about it, I can live with it a few more days."

"Good enough for me," the Harbinger said. The older man grew solemn then, expression tightening for several seconds before he drew in a breath and lifted his head. "It's late, but let's grab a drink and gather 'round the tables one more time tonight." He slapped Vilkas on the upper arm. "I'm going to teach you to play tabula, brother. I think you'd enjoy it."

Vilkas doubted it, but he didn't have the heart to say no, and Skjor seemed...odd lately. Sentimental almost, which wasn't ordinarily in the man's nature. He settled for saying, "Aye," and was pleased to see a look of surprised annoyance flicker across the Dragonborn's face. That alone was worth it.

Farkas said to his lover, "Hey, maybe...maybe you could play a song? Or I could try. I'm getting better."

Edric looked as happy about that as he did the prospect of Vilkas learning the Legionnaire's game, but he nodded in acquiescence. "I can manage a song or two,  _miingi_ ," Edric murmured. "And you're plenty good, you know that." Farkas beamed at him, the big lug just about glowing.

The Circle filed out of the Underforge, a place that Vilkas was more than happy to escape. He trailed along behind the others, pondering what Edric had said about the cavern. It seemed impossible that the space wasn't sacred to Kyne. The entire hill that the city had been built upon was. That the Circle had defiled such a place didn't sit well, even if Vilkas had no use for the Divines. It wasn't as if he didn't see their workings. Edric himself was proof that they still meddled in the affairs of mortals. It was a wonder that Danica had anything at all to do with any of the Circle, knowing this about the Underforge, and surely if Edric knew it so did Kynareth's head priestess. Or so Vilkas assumed.

It was late, but not terribly so, maybe a little after nine, and Tilma was so happy to see them around the table again for a second time that she gladly sat down with them after making Edric his tea, and sent Lucia downstairs to get Ria as well.

Farkas fetched the lute, tuning it under his man's direction, then he began playing a simple song, and Tilma just about looked ready to pop, she was so proud of him. It was like he was a little boy again, being praised for the smallest accomplishments.

The thought wasn't fair, however, and Vilkas knew it. It wasn't as if he himself could learn the lute, or any other musical instrument, or carve the way Farkas did. Tilma had given Vilkas just as much praise growing up, though not as effusive as it had been for Farkas. And why should Vilkas be praised for things that hadn't been hard to learn? She had praised him as he grew older and learned some measure of self-control. Praised him when he mastered certain fighting disciplines. Tilma had been a constant in their lives from the time they were in diapers, and Vilkas didn't know what they would do without her.

No, he.  _He_ didn't know what he would do without her. He didn't know how  _he_ would cope if something happened to her. Farkas would manage, the way he always did, and he had Edric to lean on, even at a distance, or at least that was how he assumed the bond worked. And they still had Skjor. Their forebear wasn't the touchy-feely type, but Skjor's gruff support had helped a great deal in the last month and a half since Kodlak died.

Vilkas grit his teeth and resisted complaining as Skjor laid out the tabula set and explained the rules. It wasn't as complicated as he had feared, and he had listened with half an ear while the Harbinger was teaching Lucia earlier today. The girl sat by Ria and they talked quietly, and Vilkas found himself drawn into the game. It was mostly a matter of luck, the roll of the dice, but there was some small amount of strategy involved. Playing made Skjor happy, and it wasn't often that Vilkas could say that he had done that for someone. It wasn't so much the game itself as the memories and companionship associated with it that pleased the older man, that was clear enough to see. Maybe that was what had bothered Edric about it as well.

He lost the first game and insisted on another, feeling that he was getting the hang of it, and Skjor was glad to oblige. They set up the board as another song began to play, and it was a few measures in before Vilkas realized that the skill and pace were beyond what Farkas could manage. Ria and Lucia went silent and Tilma made a soft sound of pleasure. Vilkas kept his eyes on the board, refusing to look past Skjor at the Dragonborn, who had propped his feet up on the table and had the lute cradled in his lap. And then...then he began to sing.

With that fair sound it was impossible not to look. It was only the second time he had heard Edric sing, and this time his voice wasn't clogged with grief. It rang out as sweet and clear as a silver bell, though he sang softly. Farkas was gazing at his man with a rapt expression, completely besotted, while Edric smiled at him in return as he sang, silver eyes shining with affection.

Unfair. Unfair that any man should be so lovely, even with the damage to his face, though the scars were turned away from the fire and hidden in shadow. Unfair that he should be so lovely with such a lovely voice as well. Why should the gods give so much to any one person? Had each of the Divines contributed something to the Dragonborn's making, to create someone who was unmatched on Nirn, all the better to suit their purposes? The more gifts Edric was given, the more successful he would be, or so Vilkas imagined. It didn't change the fact that Edric was an unrepentant asshole, with about as much charm as a goat drinking its own piss, but as long as the man wasn't talking it was sometimes easy to forget how thoroughly unlikable he was. When it came to the Dragonborn's tact and charisma, Dibella had certainly dropped the ball.

What must it be like though, to have someone look at him like that? The way Edric looked at Farkas, as if he had hung the moons? Whatever else Vilkas thought of the Dragonborn, he had no doubt that the man truly loved Farkas. There was no faking an expression like that.

He tore his eyes away and focused on the board. He couldn't block out the sweet sound of the Dragonborn's voice, and didn't particularly want to, but he wasn't about to watch the man sing. Wasn't about to let Edric know that he had watched. Wasn't about to give the bastard the satisfaction. Wasn't about to let him see Vilkas' envy. He didn't want Edric, not for anything that would take more than five minutes, but he would have liked to be with someone who loved him the way Edric loved Farkas. That was simply never going to happen, and he was finally beginning to accustom himself to that bitter realization. Even if he was cured, he wasn't the kind of man to engender that depth of feeling in anyone. He simply didn't have it in him. Farkas hadn't been wrong, that if the two of them had gained a wife it would have been Farkas' doing, with Farkas the one to do all the emotional labor afterward.

The song ended and Edric launched into another tune, something jaunty without lyrics, and Skjor chuckled.

"Haven't heard that one in thirty years or more," he murmured to Vilkas. "Good memories. Should've invited Vignar down." He snorted. "Maybe."

"Maybe," Vilkas replied in kind. "Or maybe he would have taken over and made us all regret the invitation." He respected the Revered, as an expert on the history of the Companions and someone who had been a warrior of note in his younger years, but the man was long-winded as hell and overly opinionated, and being Jarl for the last three and a half years had only intensified those traits.

"Maybe so." Skjor took the dice and rolled then moved his pieces. "You going up to Dragonsreach tomorrow morning with the rest of us?"

"Aye," Vilkas said shortly, and Skjor left it at that. No matter how unbearable the man was, Edric was Dragonborn, and Vilkas wanted to see him call down and ride a dragon. He would end up kicking himself for ages afterward if he didn't. Maybe he would have the chance to see Edric do this again, but what if he didn't? Edric was likely to die down south, and it would be an opportunity lost.

The night passed pleasantly, even for Vilkas, and even he couldn't help but laugh a bit when Edric rose from his chair and strolled over to serenade Tilma. The old woman cackled in delight as she swatted him away and flicked her dishtowel at the young man, who danced out of her reach then back again, crooning to her. He turned his attention to the other women in turn, though he spared little Lucia, who covered her mouth and giggled madly as she watched. Aela tried not to react, but even she couldn't keep a straight face when Edric began to sing some preposterous made-up song about Aela the Red to the melody of 'Ragnar The Red'. The rhymes were a stretch and the entire thing ridiculous, but the Huntress grinned and chuckled through the entire thing, her prior aggravation with her pup forgotten. Skjor found it all hilarious, laughing as hard as Vilkas had ever seen him.

It was a good night. Vilkas couldn't deny that, and if Edric ignored his existence entirely, well, that was no bad thing. The absence of Athis and Njada was felt though, the numbers at the table much too few, a reminder of the earlier discussion in the Underforge. Even if he was a windbag, maybe it would have been good to have Vignar here, just to fill another empty seat.

And Kodlak. Kodlak would have loved this. When Vilkas was young, there had been a dozen Companions in the hall, and he remembered many a night watching the warriors singing and drinking around the fire, he and Farkas peeking from the stairwell when they were supposed to be in bed. Jergen had sat and drank, but never a note had left his mouth or a smile touched his lips. Kodlak had sung well, having a deep, rich singing voice, but there hadn't been any musicians of note in the hall. Askar had played the drum, and Aela's mother Gislun the flute, but the melodies had been no more than ditties, nothing approaching Edric's skill. Farkas had been right, that night they had gone out drinking, that Mikael was a somewhat better lute player, having had formal training, but Edric's voice was sweeter.

So maybe...maybe Edric had been right to be proactive and send out the handbills to get their numbers back up. All right, fine, Vilkas could admit that, knowing that he hadn't been the only one to initially have a problem with it. Having the entire Circle gathered here, with only Ria out of the juniors present, brought home just how dire their straits were. And as Skjor had said, Edric would be gone come spring, and they'd be down one more member. Vilkas couldn't fault the man's competence or experience, or, usually, his judgment. His methods, yes. Always those.

Still...there was something odd, lately. Edric was always odd, of course, but Farkas was acting just slightly off, and Skjor was acting almost the way Kodlak had before he died. Sentimental. It made no sense; Skjor didn't have the rot and would have told everyone if he did, beside the fact that the rest of the Circle would have smelled it on him. Werewolves didn't tend to live long lives, dying from violence or their hearts simply giving out after too many decades of shifting. That punch in the chest that they all felt almost always took its toll eventually, if something else didn't first. But Skjor was still hale and hearty, the strongest of the hunters, even with one eye. That didn't change in…

In wolf form. Scars didn't change much in wolf form. They carried through from the human to the wolf. So...why wasn't the right side of Edric's face scarred when he shifted to a werewolf?

The thought occurred to him out of nowhere and he found himself studying the young man's face again. Edric was leaning back now in Farkas' lap, idly plucking a tune as the pair stared at the fire and Lucia played tabula with Skjor while Ria, Tilma and Aela watched and chatted. The scarring was serious and should've been visible when the Dragonborn was in wolf form. It was...odd. Maybe only Hircine's doing, but odd all the same.

This entire night was strange, and the worry began creeping in again, tainting the rare pleasure he had taken in the music and companionship. Too few Companions around the fire. Edric's challenging Aela. Skjor refusing to let the Circle track down Sinding. Skjor being uncharacteristically nostalgic. Edric riding off on a dragon so close to the festival, and making a show of it rather than calling the monster out onto the plains and mounting there. Vilkas couldn't put the pieces together, couldn't figure out what was going on, but something was.

Edric sat up enough to grab his mug of tea, and his eyes happened to meet Vilkas', and the Companion wasn't about to look away, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at his brother's partner. Edric drank slowly, his eyes holding Vilkas'. Yes, there was something going on, he was sure of it, and combined with all the strangers in town and everything else that had gone wrong over the last several months it made Vilkas deeply uneasy. It made Vilkas wish all the more that Kodlak was still here. The old man's intuition had never steered the Companions wrong. How many times had the Harbinger said he had a bad feeling about a particular job, and some fool or other had ignored him and paid the price?

Well they didn't have Kodlak, but they had Edric, and Vilkas was going to make him talk. Or try to.

**Farkas**

"He knows something's up," Edric murmured as he closed their door.

"Shit," Farkas whispered in dismay, sitting down on the bed to take his boots off. "What do we do?" Edric shrugged as he set the lute in the corner. Farkas really needed to make a stand for it. "Honey, what do we do?" Farkas pressed. It drove him nuts when Edric brushed things off like this. Maybe Edric wasn't worried, but Farkas was. He worried that Vilkas would wait until Edric was gone then start pestering Farkas for answers.

They didn't get the chance to finish the conversation as someone knocked on the door, and it was that certain obnoxious, demanding knock that Vilkas had had for the last year that told him it was his twin.

"I'll handle this," Edric stated with confidence.

_Oh no_ , Farkas thought with worry as he watched his mate stride to the door. That was what he was afraid of. Edric was good at not telling the truth without ever actually lying, so sure, he could handle it, but Farkas was afraid his man and his brother would start fighting. He was also afraid that his own face would give something up. He was pretty good about keeping his feelings to himself when he had to, though, and so he did when the door opened and Vilkas looked between the two of them with narrowed eyes.

"I want to talk to you," Vilkas stated, gaze fixed on Edric.

Edric shrugged without concern as he leaned against the door jamb. "Talk away."

"That thing you said you would do. When you track Sinding. I want you to use it to find the keys to Jorrvaskr's doors."

Edric looked taken aback for all of two seconds before covering it up again. "Huh. All right." He lifted his left hand and lit it up in Vilkas' face, making him rear back, his face twisted into an expression of distaste.

"Unnecessary," Vilkas growled.

Edric rolled his eyes. "It isn't going to hurt you." He cast the spell and the pale blue light fizzled in his hand. He cast it again then shook his head. "There are no keys," he murmured, sounding surprised. He lit up his hand and stated firmly, "I want to find the keys to Jorrvaskr's doors." The spell went nowhere. "That's...unexpected. Are you sure the doors even have locks?"

"Yes I'm sure," Vilkas stated, frowning, though not angrily. "I checked them before we left for Lost Knife Hideout." He grumbled and added, "We should not be leaving the doors unsecured at night."

"They open inward. Is there any way to bar them, if you're that worried?"

"No. I checked that too." He wrinkled his nose as he looked at Edric's hands. "You're certain that spell works?"

"Yes, very sure. Been using it for the last ten years to find my way around, or find things. Never failed me except when the thing I'm looking for just doesn't exist. The keys did at one point, obviously, but over how many hundreds or maybe even thousands of years anything could've happened to them. Melted down, damaged beyond use...who knows?" He shrugged again. "We could find a locksmith. Have new keys made." Vilkas nodded slowly, still frowning. "Well, we gave it a shot," Edric said with finality. "Good night."

Edric turned away to go inside the room but Vilkas put his hand on the door, making a thrill of dread go through Farkas.

Edric sighed and turned on his heel to face Vilkas, saying, "Look. I don't particularly like sleeping in a building with no security measures either. I already talked to Farkas about this, believe it or not. He said you brought up that just about anyone could come in at night, and for what's it's worth I agree, especially with Tilma and Lucia upstairs. Their room has a working lock, at least, and they started using it after I scared them coming home in the middle of the night, but it doesn't change the fact that we have no way to secure the upper doors." He huffed through his nose. "This is the first New Life Festival that Whiterun's had in, what, three, four years? Lots of strangers in town, and some of them are sketchy-looking. Could be Thieves' Guild, could be anyone, but I did notice that some were a bit shifty-eyed. Then again, people look at me funny all the time, so who am I to judge? Still, it doesn't pay to be complacent. That was part of the reason I suggested that Skjor keep everyone here while I'm gone."

Vilkas grunted, his frown easing, then he nodded curtly and took his hand away from the door. "Then why is it necessary for you to leave Whiterun now?"

"Aww, brother, that's sweet," Edric murmured in a touched voice, his hand over his heart. "That's just...Vilkas, I don't know what to say."

Vilkas bared his teeth and growled, "You're not getting rid of me that easily, whelp."

Farkas pleaded, "Please don't start, you guys. Not tonight." Vilkas grumbled and Edric stopped his baiting. Farkas just didn't have the energy for it tonight. He never really did, to be honest, but he was usually able to ignore it. Edric was a smartass and Vilkas seemed to look for ways to be angry and offended, and after the nice time they'd all had around the fire Farkas just didn't want to hear it from either of them right now, so better to stop them before they really got started.

"I'm leaving now because Kynareth took her grace from me when I took the blood," Edric said to Vilkas, an edge to his voice. " _That's_  why I'm going up to the Throat of the World, and I'm going now because the New Life Festival is coming up, her festival, and I'm afraid that if I don't throw myself on her mercy now it will end up being too late. I'm going to fly a dragon to the top of that mountain and shout at her until she answers me."

Farkas could tell how much it hurt Edric to admit that to Vilkas, to anyone but Farkas, though maybe he had talked to Ria about it that night they sat together while the others were gone, as far as he could without giving away what the Circle was. Maybe him admitting it was calculated, a way to throw Vilkas off the scent, but it hurt all the same. Vilkas looked stunned, and when his twin pulled his eyes away from Edric to look at Farkas, he didn't have to fake unhappiness.

"I don't want him to go either," Farkas muttered. "I asked him not to, but he explained it and he has to." That was the truth, too.

Vilkas said with worry, "The timing is bad."

Edric stated, "I know. We both know. So does Skjor."

"What I don't understand is why you need to fly a dragon from the palace. Everyone will know you've left the city."

Farkas swallowed as he felt a pang of guilt from his husband, and Edric rubbed the back of his neck and walked into the room. It wasn't hard to guess why he felt bad, either, with what might happen while he was away, and Vilkas was being good right now. He had been all night. It hurt to see the two people Farkas loved most in the word being halfway reasonable with each other and knowing it wouldn't last.

"Have you ever watched dragons fly?" Edric asked. "Ever seen them take off?"

Vilkas shook his head and said, "I've seen them flying at a distance, but no. What is your point?"

"The point is, they can only fly at all because they're magic. They aren't animals, not the way you and I understand animals. They don't follow the laws of nature, as far as anything does in this world. They're heavy, their bones aren't hollow, their wings aren't nearly big enough, and yet with all that, somehow they fly. But they're gliders more than fliers. Getting off the ground is hard for them. Bats have the same problem. If you've ever watched them roosting and see how they take off…"

"Ah."

"Yeah." Edric lifted his hand up then dropped it and made a swooping motion. "Dragons try to roost up high. On word walls, on mountains. They try to land in places where they can drop and glide to take off. No matter what I am, I don't like flying. I detest it, actually, and I'm not making it any harder on myself than I have to, and I  _have_ to take a dragon up there. I'm not climbing 7,000 fucking steps only to get to the Greybeards' door and have them turn me away."

Vilkas nodded, and Farkas breathed a silent sigh of relief when his twin nodded again as the tension left his body.

"You've talked to Skjor about all this?"

"Of course. I've talked to Skjor about a lot of things. He's not happy about me leaving right now either. He inherited a mess when he took over, and we can all say how the Harbinger doesn't really lead the Companions and everyone is responsible for themselves, but we all know that isn't the truth, not really. Skjor feels responsible for the Companions, and numbers are down, Kodlak died in a horrible way, Torvar was a piece of shit, the Silver Hand is sniffing around, you're...you, and I won't be here much longer. He's a little stressed out." Vilkas grunted, though in a thoughtful manner, and Edric went on in a reasonable tone, "Tonight was nice, brother. Skjor was happy, real happy. Let's try to keep it going as long as we can, yeah? Take him down to the Bannered Mare tomorrow or something, you and Farkas. Spend some time with him doing whatever, without me or the Circle's issues or anything else in the way. Get his mind off things. He'd like that."

Vilkas grunted again but nodded, and he glanced at Edric then past him to Farkas. Farkas smiled at him and said, "We should do that, Vilkas. Take the old man out for a few drinks. See if Aela wants to come." His twin hesitated for so long that Farkas feared he would dig in, as he often did when something was Edric's idea, then he drew in a deep breath and nodded again.

"I suppose," Vilkas agreed. He then looked at Edric again, his lips pursing, wrestling with something, then he abruptly walked away.

Edric closed the door and put his back against it, saying with satisfaction, "And that's that."

Farkas listened to his brother's heavy footsteps retreating, and once they were far enough away he mumbled, "It isn't just that. He's going to lose his shit if something happens while you're gone." His husband's eyes slowly raised to his, and it made Farkas feel a thrill of fear. As if Edric knew, just knew, that something bad was going to happen while he was gone. There was that stab of guilt again, and Farkas held his hand out and whispered, "C'mere." Edric came to stand between Farkas' legs, and he laid his head on his husband's stomach and wrapped his arms around him. "I wish you didn't have to leave."

"I don't  _want_ to leave." He slid his fingers into Farkas' hair and held him close. "If Vilkas starts losing it, you and Aela have to get him into the Underforge and lock him up. Until I get back." A tremor went through the big man, and Edric murmured, "I  _will_ handle things, love. I promised  _Bormah_ I would. And Skjor." He drew in a deep breath. "It might not be the way you or Aela would want things done, or Vilkas, but they'll get done, even if it's not the way the Companions usually do them."

"Okay," he whispered. He wasn't going to like it. He knew he wasn't, and he feared that they were talking about Vilkas. Edric was going to handle Vilkas all right, his way. The Edric Way. It brought up that sick, low-level dread that had haunted Farkas off and on for hours now. He'd been able to forget about things for a little bit tonight, as they sat around the tables, but in the back of his mind he kept thinking it felt an awful lot like a going away party for Skjor.

"The Companions have to change. They no doubt have dozens of times over the ages, but change they will. It's the only constant in life."

"And it's what you do. Change things." He felt a spark of surprise then sad warmth that faded away again.

"Ah,  _miingi_. Heart of my heart." Edric kissed the top of Farkas' head. "Aye, it is what I do, and people hate it, but there's nothing else I can do. I take things apart. I break them. But only so they can be put back together in a different way. Like when I work on armor. I'm not so good at creating something new, from scratch, but I like taking things that already exist and changing them. Making them better." He laughed shortly, with a hint of bitterness in it. "Or better in  _my_ opinion, anyway. That opinion isn't always widely shared. Or shared at all, sometimes." He sighed and pulled back enough to tilt up Farkas' chin. " _Kogaani_ ," he whispered, smoothing Farkas' dark hair back from his brow, then placed a kiss on it. "Try not to worry," he pleaded softly. "Whatever you feel from me while I'm gone...try not to worry."

Farkas replied in a helpless tone, "I don't think I can do that, honey. You're flying away on a dragon to the top of a sacred mountain to yell at a goddess. What if...what if she gets mad?"

Edric laughed, "You think she's going to smite me?"

"It isn't funny," he grumbled.

"I'm sorry, but I doubt she's going to zap me with lightning for my impertinence. For being uppity. It isn't as if I'm going to curse her or blame her for anything. I'm going to...plead my case very, very loudly." Farkas shuddered, and Edric gave his shoulders a shake. "Let's get into bed, and I'll rub your back."

Farkas complied, more than happy to go to sleep and just not have to think about anything anymore, at least for a few hours. Edric blew out the candles and slid in next to him, and as he rolled over onto his stomach he asked, "Don't you have to get ready? To go tomorrow?"

"Nothing to get ready, really." Edric slid his hand under Farkas' shirt to run his hand up his spine. "I'm not taking any weapons or armor. Just dressing warmly. There's no water to take with all the snow up there. Not taking any food either. Just me."

"I don't like it," Farkas muttered. "I really don't like it." He understood Edric not wanting to go up there like he was prepared to do battle, but what if dragons came to the summit, drawn by his shouting? How would he defend himself? Most of the time that Edric had been up there as a kind-of Greybeard no one had really known the difference, his voice not going any farther than the others and not heard much outside of Ivarstead, but Edric was going up there now to call out to a Divine, and he'd warned it might be really loud, loud enough to maybe be heard all the way here in Whiterun. The way his screaming had been. Was that the last time that Edric had been up there at the peak, when he'd gotten thrown out of Sovngarde on the brink of death, mourning his dead husband?

"I know. I don't like it either, but I feel it's the best way to get through to her. Come as a supplicant and throw myself on her mercy." He scooted closer to rub his cheek against Farkas' shoulder. "She won't kill me, love. I'm not sure what she'll do, but she won't kill me. I'm not worried about that. But things might get weird, and you might feel it. Just focus on here and now. Focus on Skjor. And the dog. Keep Meeko close after I go. Especially at night."

Farkas made a whining sound and turned to pull his husband close, and Edric clucked his tongue and continued rubbing his back, his arm over him. They said nothing more, holding each other, neither in the mood in the least. After a few minutes he heard Edric hum softly and pull his arm free to reach up and run his fingers through Farkas' hair.

" _Laag, lokalaat_."

He didn't know what that whisper meant, but it sounded nice, and when his mate started humming again he tried to let it soothe him. He just had to trust Edric's intuition that he'd be all right up there. He knew all the little signs that his man was anxious, beyond being able to feel if he really, really was, and there weren't any. Maybe they'd be there tomorrow, but they weren't there now, and Farkas tried to hold onto that as he held onto Edric and let him comfort him.

**Vilkas**

Naked. He felt utterly naked without a weapon. He was armored, all the Companions here were, standing together off to the side, though Ria was as far as she could get from Vilkas, but they carried no weapons upon Edric's insistence. They could be fetched from right inside the doors easily enough, but it still felt wrong.

He stood hemmed in by his packmates, Skjor on one side and his brother on the other, Aela in front of him. Farkas was practically oozing anxiety, restless, itching to go to his man who was walking to the edge of the Great Porch. When Vilkas had seen that Edric was wearing heavy winter clothing, and nothing else, he'd told him he was out of his damn mind, but of course the Dragonborn had this  _all_ worked out. Right. No tent for shelter, no food, no water, no weapons, no armor, for a possibly extended stay on the top of the tallest mountain in Tamriel. Whatever else he was, Edric was mostly human and could still freeze to death up there, Nord or not. Wouldn't it figure, with all the things that the bastard had somehow survived, if he died of hypothermia up there?

Ysmir's beard, but the man looked so small right now though. So easy to forget what he was, seeing that slight figure dwarfed by the expanse of the Great Porch, and the mountains beyond.

_"OD AH VIING!"_

Vilkas flinched along with everyone else as the shout roared out, echoing off the surrounding mountains like the sounding of a dinner bell. They were sitting ducks out here. There weren't even any guards, though a contingent of them armed with bows was right inside the doors with the Companions' weapons. Edric had said that the dragon had sworn its allegiance to him and doubted there was any real danger, had said that a dragon's word was its bond, but had also implied that anyone who blindly trusted the creatures was a fool, and so there were guards waiting inside. The only people out here were five Companions on one side of the doors, with Jarl Vignar, Olfina, the housecarl Valdimar and young Erik on the other, and of course Edric.

The wait seemed interminable, and then there was the snap of wings, like shaking out a sheet of canvas. Vilkas could smell the sudden fear around him and knew his own was added to it. He vividly remembered fighting that dragon outside Rorikstead, but this one breathed fire. They could all be cooked alive here before they had the chance to run inside for their weapons, and even if they made it inside, the palace was mostly wood, as was the city.

With a rush of air the dragon flew by, one great eye surveying the porch as the gigantic beast passed, and the sound of five hearts pounding including his own was deafening. This was terrifying, truly terrifying. The creature was colossal, bigger than the one outside Rorikstead. Bigger than a house. It had a terrible beauty, its scales glittering blood red and pearl gray.

It passed again and roared, the sound making the timbers of the palace shake. Edric stood calmly, or so it appeared, right at the lip of the Porch, and when the dragon appeared again it flew up from below and hovered in front of the Dragonborn. Even from here the force of the gust from its wings was intense, making Vilkas' eyes water.

" _Thuri_. Why do you call me to this place again?" Its voice resonated, its speech slow and measured, like the voice of a mountain.

"I wish to go to the  _Monahven_ ," Edric answered, his voice even louder than the dragon's.

"Do you," the dragon drawled, sounding amused. "What purpose could you possibly have to return there? Has Paarthurnax wooed you back to the Way of the Voice?"

"No. My voice is my own.  _Zu'u laan wah tinvaak wah Kaan. Zu'u laan daal do ek kogaan_."

The dragon looked surprised, if such a creature could, then it lowered its head again towards the Dragonborn as if studying him. Then Odahviing reared back. "What have you done to yourself, Dovahkiin? What ill-considered bargains have you struck?"

Vilkas felt the Circle's tension shift, and he prayed that this wasn't how their secret was outed. Edric let out a stream of dragon tongue, the words flowing together as he gesticulated. He looked tiny, minuscule, dwarfed by the massive beast, but if the dragon had the voice of a mountain, the Dragonborn had the voice of a storm. How did such a small frame hold that kind of sound? The stones under their feet trembled as Edric spoke, and Vilkas could only hope that he was telling the dragon to keep its mouth shut about what he was.

The dragon laughed. " _Hi lost dii kusah_. Let me land, then, if you swear upon  _Bormahu_ that those  _joorre_ mean no treachery."

Edric spoke again, gesturing at the Companions and the few others gathered to watch.  _Bormahu?_  Edric had called Kodlak  _Bormah_ , Vilkas remembered that much. A term of respect, perhaps? The language was intriguing, guttural. How did flying lizards have their own language? To see such a creature speak like a person was bewildering. Fascinating. And how,  _how_ , was Edric's throat producing the same sounds, louder than the dragon?

Then Edric was moving out of the way, and the dragon lifted itself up then forward to land with an exhalation of sulfurous breath, shaking the foundations of the palace. The creature cast a wary eye on the puny little humans gathered there then dismissed them with a sniff of contempt as it turned its attention back to Edric. The Circle watched silently as the Dragonborn and Odahviing began conversing back and forth, the dragon's speech ponderous where Edric's was nimble. It was interesting in a frightening sort of way how Edric's voice deepened a bit with the thu'um, where ordinarily it was higher-pitched and a bit boyish-sounding.

Well, if Skjor had wanted Vilkas to understand exactly what Edric was, this had gone a long way towards that. This was in fact rather horrifying, watching the two creatures converse, the dragon and the dragon that wore a man's skin and had a wolf's blood flowing in its veins. Watching this, it was apparent how very inhuman Edric really was, that he could speak with that voice and hold a conversation with a monster without fear.  _Monster_. That was what Edric really was. A Divinely-created monster to be sure, but a monster all the same.

The conversation ended abruptly and Edric was then walking towards them, and the whiffs of fear were back, from all but Farkas, who broke from the group before Vilkas could stop him and hurried to meet Edric halfway. "He's going to get himself killed!" Vilkas hissed.

"Edric wouldn't allow it," Skjor said under his breath. "Let him be."

The two men walked arm in arm towards the Companions, and the dragon let out a long, steaming sigh, sounding irritated by the delay. Vilkas kept one eye on the titanic beast and his other on the little beast that was approaching. The air was rank with the smell of stress, rattling his nerves. He shouldn't have come today. He should've stayed in Jorrvaskr. There was no point in bringing him here. He'd fought a dragon with Edric. He knew what the Dragonborn was. All this little exercise had done was reinforce Vilkas' belief in Edric's inhumanity, and remind him that he hadn't been nearly scared enough of the creature, as several people had been quick to tell him over the last several months.

Edric's eyes landed on him, cold as Atmora, the Dragonborn giving Vilkas not even the satisfaction of a twitch of the upper lip. Nothing. There was nothing there. As if Vilkas were less than a bug to him. And right now maybe he was. Maybe all of them were. All but Farkas.

Vignar approached with Olfina at his side, the young woman keeping a close eye on the dragon. The Jarl said to Edric, "The Porch will be kept clear for your return, Dovahkiin."

The old man's voice was steady, but Vilkas could see and hear his pulse pounding, along with Olfina's. The Companions were riled up as well, but they lived with Edric every day. The only person halfway calm was Farkas, but even he looked upset about this trip his partner was about to take.

"Thank you, my Jarl," Edric replied. "With any luck this won't take long." His voice still rumbled with the thu'um, but at a level that wasn't putting anyone's eardrums in danger.

Vignar made a sound of assent but looked skeptical of that. Vilkas was as well. How could anyone have the sheer arrogance to challenge the will of a goddess to begin with let alone think it would be a quick matter to change her mind? If that was even possible at all? He supposed if anyone had that gall it would be Edric.

The Dragonborn looked back to the Companions, his eyes moving over them all, then they landed on Skjor and stayed there. "Walk with me, Harbinger?" he murmured.

Skjor gave him a curt nod and said in a rough voice, "Aye lad."

Edric looked up at Farkas, whose expression crumpled. " _Miingi_ , don't be like that," he soothed, leaning into him.. "I'll be back in a few days or less. No smiting."

"Don't joke," Farkas pouted.

"Everything will be all right. I'll do everything in my power to make sure of it." He leaned up and kissed Farkas' cheek, and Farkas grumbled and kissed his forehead in turn. Edric squeezed his arm then let go of him, nodding to Aela who returned it with a brief, tight smile. He then looked at Ria. He gazed at her for a moment then smiled gently at her, something in him seeming to relax a bit. "Want to get a close-up look at a dragon, little sister?"

She huffed a nervous laugh and said, "No thanks, brother. Maybe a dead one, someday."

"Farkas and I will take you dragon hunting," he promised, "on my honor."

"That's good enough for me." Her voice brightened and she added, "I want to hear you yell so loud we can hear it all the way down here."

"Oh, I can guarantee that." Edric turned to Farkas again, his gaze suddenly intent. "Be safe, love." Farkas nodded, swallowing as his eyes grew shiny, then Edric glanced at Skjor and turned away.

Vilkas grit his teeth at being ignored. He supposed he should be glad that he had been. He watched the Harbinger walk at the Dragonborn's side, the two men speaking in lowered voices to each other, beyond even a werewolf's hearing. Skjor put his hand on the young man's shoulder, giving it a squeeze then letting go.

Edric saluted to his housecarl and the redhead, both of whom Vilkas had forgotten. Erik was watching it all with an avid gaze while Valdimar seemed unmoved. Vilkas didn't doubt that he had found this all as terrifying as anyone, since he seemed a man with brains in his head. The innkeeper's son didn't seem to have those brains, or any at all that Vilkas could tell.

The dragon grumbled in complaint and let out a steaming hiss of displeasure as the two men approached, and Edric said something to the creature in the dragon tongue and it subsided. Skjor pulled off a glove and reached out a shaking hand to lightly run it along a wing, making the dragon rumble again in annoyance, but it held still and allowed the familiarity. Skjor took in a deep breath and said something to Edric, who clapped him on the shoulder then embraced the older man. It was brief, and the Harbinger quickly walked away, pulling his gauntlet back on.

Vilkas frowned at the expression on the Harbinger's face, set in stone but his eyes wet. There was no shame in tears, but touching a dragon hardly seemed to warrant it. Granted, people only saw them up close as a pile of bones. It was...something, that was for certain. Vilkas would have given much to do the same, but it wouldn't have brought him to tears. It was unlikely he'd ever get the chance to touch a living dragon, though he wouldn't mind fighting another one. He'd do better next time, he was sure of it, with or without the Dragonborn present.

Edric went to the dragon, and Vignar nodded to Olfina. His niece went to the palace doors and opened one, saying to the men and women inside, "Leave your weapons, if you want to watch your Thane fly the dragon."

And of course they did, the guards practically dropping them on the ground. Vilkas frowned as they quickly and quietly filed out, moving along the sides of the gallery, though staying well back from the beast and Edric. Vilkas muttered to Vignar, "What is the point of this... performance?"

The old Jarl stated with a touch of his customary impatience, "The point is that our people need the reminder of what Edric is, and what he's done for them, and everyone else. The last time he flew a dragon from here he went to Skuldafn, and Sovngarde, to destroy the World-Eater. The Dragonborn is the Thane of Whiterun and I want people to remember that."

" _Your_  Thane," Vilkas clarified.

"Exactly so."

Vilkas grunted and left the matter alone. He understood what Vignar was trying to do, even if he found it amusing that the Jarl was afraid of his own Thane. The old man hid it well, but he couldn't hide it from a werewolf's senses. Of course Vignar wanted to show off  _his_ Dragonborn, the prize he had won from the other Jarls, though Farkas was the only reason Vignar had him. There wasn't any other reason that Edric would have stayed here, and as Kodlak had said, Edric had planned to let the war against the elves send him to Shor's Hall before Farkas had wooed him, or wherever else the Dragonborn's soul had been fated to go. The guards had big mouths when they weren't ordered to keep them shut, and so they would spread the word of what they had seen and heard here today. It would reinforce respect for the Dragonborn, which could only benefit the Jarl that the Dragonborn reported to.

Farkas sucked in a breath and Vilkas heard his twin's heart began to pound as Edric hesitated by the dragon's head then climbed onto its neck in wooden motions. Afraid? He was sure that Farkas was scared for his man, but it seemed impossible that Edric himself was afraid. The fear hadn't shown on his face, but what else could Farkas be reacting to? Or was Edric reacting to Farkas' fear for him? Again, it was that accursed bond between them, and the more Vilkas saw of it the more he was convinced of how harmful it was.

"It's okay, Edie," Farkas whispered under his breath. Aela moved to Farkas' side, and the two leaned against each other. Aela murmured something to him just beyond the edge of hearing, and Farkas nodded and gave her a quick smile. As if she had reassured him. Comforted him.

Vilkas found himself frowning again over the odd behavior. Odd. Everything was still all very… odd. Odd all around. He wasn't sorry that Aela was being supportive of Farkas, but it wasn't in her nature. It was as if Vilkas hardly knew anyone anymore.

The dragon turned towards the end of the Porch then began lumbering towards the end, picking up speed and then launching itself over the parapet. Vilkas heard a smothered whimper from his twin then Farkas left Aela's side and ran towards the place the dragon had gone over. Vilkas could hardly blame Edric for being scared, if he had been. Anyone would have been terrified, taking a dive like that.

The dragon swooped up into view and the guards let out a cheer and ran to go watch, followed at a more staid pace by everyone but Vilkas, making him grunt in annoyance. The entire thing was so performative he wanted to vomit. Yes, of course it was all very dramatic, and of course no one ever saw someone riding a dragon, and yes, he understood why Edric and Vignar had put on this little display, but it was still annoying as all get out. He nearly said he was going home, but Edric and the dragon swept by the porch, making people cheer again, and Vilkas found his feet taking him out into the open to watch.

Odahviing circled upward, the way big raptors did, catching an updraft and riding it up with the occasional strong flap of wings. Edric looked tiny on the dragon's neck, but he was still visible, holding onto the dragon's horns. He didn't wave or acknowledge the people below in any way. Vilkas wouldn't have either, refusing to remove even one single finger from those horns. At least a fall from that height would be guaranteed death on impact.

He went to his brother, who was hugging himself and watching the dragon gain altitude. "Quite the show," Vilkas stated, doing his best to not sound snide, though no matter how he tried everything seemed to come out that way. He didn't doubt at all that the entire city was outside watching from the streets and every available spot on the wall.

"He hates flying," Farkas stated.

"Anyone with any sense would. Frankly I would have pissed myself going over that edge." And that was the gods' honest truth.

Farkas laughed weakly. "Yeah, me too."

"No one can fault his courage. I can admit that much." Farkas let out a shaky breath and turned such a grateful expression on him that it was painful to see. Vilkas offered, "It was...interesting. To hear so much of the dragon tongue."

"He doesn't use it as much as he used to. Just a few words here and there. No one else can speak it except dragons and the Greybeards. Maybe King Ulfric, if he remembers any of it. I only know a few words, ones he, uh, says a lot."

Vilkas grunted with a nod, seeing his twin's slight embarrassment. He didn't want to know. He really didn't, not if whatever it was made Farkas blush. He had heard that word several times now,  _miingi_ , obviously a term of endearment, but he couldn't bring himself to ask what it meant, any more than he could ask what  _bormah_ meant. He forced himself to say, "Then that is more words than most people know."

Farkas brightened. "Hey, you're right." He turned his eyes back to the sky, and his expression fell again as the dragon made one final spiral upward then turned towards the Throat of the World. "I hope he'll be okay," he mumbled.

"If anyone would be, it is him." The sheer arrogance of Edric's actions still boggled Vilkas' mind, but maybe that audacity would help gain Kynareth's attention. Or Kyne's, rather. He didn't quite understand the nuances involved there, but he didn't think it was the gentle life-giver Kynareth that the Dragonborn would be appealing to. It would be Kyne, the goddess of storms, mother of men and wild beasts.

"It's so high," Farkas whispered. "I wonder what Skyrim looks like from up there. Pretty, I bet."

Vilkas felt his heart clench. "Yes, I imagine so." Ah, but his brother had a tender soul.

They stood together, silent, as they watched the dragon shrink into the distance. Others talked quietly around them but gave them space, something Vilkas was glad of. Skjor and Vignar were off on their own, watching the dragon as they stood close to each other and talked. Vilkas wondered if the old Jarl still considered himself a Companion. He had been as a very young man, before joining the Legion, and again after returning about twenty years ago, an angry and bitter former Legate, seething with resentment over the White-Gold Concordat and Nord sacrifices, never hesitating to tell anyone who would listen about it. Or anyone who didn't want to listen but was stuck in close proximity. Vilkas had spent most of his adult life being forced to listen to Vignar. It wasn't as if the man didn't have valid points, or a vast wealth of knowledge, but his delivery left much to be desired. Much like Edric.

Skjor gripped Vignar's shoulder in farewell then came towards the twins. As he reached them he looked between them and said, "Dinner and drinks are on me at the Mare tonight if you're interested."

"Aye," Vilkas agreed. He was hardly one to pass up such an offer, though he would be careful to pace his drinking to avoid getting drunk. He very much did not want a repeat of the last time.

"Sure, Skjor," Farkas said, and the Harbinger smiled at both of them then moved on to Aela.

Vilkas watched him go to their shield-sister, who was talking to Olfina, and touch her back briefly. Aela didn't tense, but she went still for a moment. Her back was to Vilkas, so he couldn't see her expression, but he saw the ever-observant Olfina look between the two of them with a hint of a raised eyebrow. Gods' sakes, surely that last hunt wasn't still an issue between them!

He made a muffled sound of disgust and turned back to his twin, but Farkas' eyes were still set on the Throat of the World. The dragon was still visible, but Edric no longer was.

"He  _hates_ this," Farkas whispered.

"As he should," Vilkas said.

His brother folded his arms and shuddered. "I don't want to feel what's going to happen," he mumbled. "I feel like a traitor, but I don't want to feel him talking to a goddess, Vilkas. I swore I'd always be there for him and I am, I will be, but I'm…" Scared. The word wasn't said, but it might as well have been.

"Maybe nothing will happen. Maybe she'll ignore him and we'll hear just a bit of thunder from a distance."

Farkas looked at him with extreme skepticism, then back at the mountain. Well, he'd tried. He wasn't good at comforting and they both knew it, but he'd tried. He still found it unlikely that Kynareth or Kyne or whoever would deign to acknowledge even the Dragonborn. It seemed impossible that Edric's audacity would result in anything but hunger and a case of frostbite.

The morning of the next day when storm clouds began to form around the peak of the mountain, Vilkas wondered if maybe he should have had more faith in Edric's ability to aggravate even the Divines into paying attention to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dovahzul Translation (Legacy Translator):  
> Bormah - Father  
> Miingi - Honey/My honey  
> Kogaani - My blessing  
> Laag, lokalaat - Sleep, beloved  
> Thuri - Overlord/My overlord  
> Monahven - Throat of the World (Mother Wind)  
> Zu'u laan wah tinvaak wah Kaan. Zu'u laan daal do ek kogaan - I want to talk to Kyne. I want the return of her blessing  
> Hi lost dii kusah - You have my interest  
> Bormahu - Our Father  
> Joorre - Mortals
> 
> 'Black Is The Colour (Of My True Love's Hair)' is the song that Edric sings to Farkas; I had initially included some bits of lyrics but couldn't ascertain whether or not the song was in the public domain, and so took them back out. Edric is a tenor; Peter Hollens is his singing voice claim.
> 
> I also made an aesthetic board for Edric here: http://opal-bee.tumblr.com/post/165949090913/although-it-took-me-virtually-all-day-to-figure
> 
> Sorry for another long gap between updates. I had this pretty much done a few weeks ago then started doubting myself and my writing, and then every time I opened this to finish the editing and post it I started getting angry and closed it again. I'm not terribly happy with this chapter even after multiple edits and tweaking, but at this point I just want to get the story moving again so I can wrap it up. But thank you though to everyone who has been so kind and supportive of this story over the years. It amazes me that anyone has stuck with it this long.


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for canon-typical violence.

**Farkas**

"Crazy fetcher." Athis settled himself against the wall of the bastion next to Farkas. "We heard the rumors coming back. Didn't think he'd actually do it."

He swallowed and nodded, his eyes still locked on the mountaintop. "Yeah," he whispered, his throat dry. The storm clouds were still churning around the peak of the Throat of the World and the low rumble of thunder hadn't let up all morning. It hadn't for most of the night either. Neither had the really, really uncomfortable mix of emotions he'd felt coming from his mate off and on for the last 24 hours.

Edric had been afraid of getting on Odahviing's neck yesterday morning, but the moment that he'd gone over the edge of the Great Porch he'd been flat out terrified, like screaming inside terrified. It had been horrible to feel. The fear had subsided during the ride, but it had come back as he approached the peak. Farkas remembered that the leader of the Greybeards lived up there, the really powerful, really old one that Edric respected so much that he'd threatened to kill the Blades for wanting him dead. Farkas didn't think whoever it was had been all that happy to find out that Edric had let himself become a werewolf, because there had been a lot of shouting in the dragon language right around the time that Edric must've landed, with a lot of Edric feeling really desperate. There had been even more shouting later that afternoon with a lot of different voices that had made the ground shake even all the way down in Whiterun, but Edric's had been the loudest, and Edric had been  _angry_. The kind of angry that not even Vilkas had brought out of Edric in a while, a kind of angry that Farkas had never felt himself. The kind of angry that felt like it could take the world apart.

Edric wasn't angry now, and hadn't been since last night, so maybe the Greybeards had all agreed to leave him alone and go back to their monastery, but he was exhausted, and Farkas feared that his poor little love hadn't slept at all last night. Farkas wouldn't have either, would've stayed up all night out here with the dog to watch the mountain, but Skjor had insisted he go back inside, with a sound to his voice that hadn't allowed for any disagreeing with him. Skjor had been in good spirits down at the Mare, but it hadn't last long past walking back through Jorrvaskr's doors. The doors that wouldn't lock.

"I'm glad you guys are back," Farkas blurted out, finally making himself look away from the mountain. He was starting to hate that fucking mountain. Athis raised a single red eyebrow, his arms folded, bundled into furs to stay warm, smelling like he'd just bathed. Farkas had to hand it to the Dunmer, the guy never complained about how cold it was, just did what he had to in order to cope. Athis and Njada had returned earlier that morning, the job completed and pay picked up, both grouchy and silent, but they hadn't sniped at each other when they parted ways. Ignoring each other and being quietly irritable was a big improvement. Neither of them even had black eyes to show for the trip.

"Thank you, I suppose?" the elf drawled.

Farkas didn't know what more to say about it without giving away his worries, at least the ones he had about the Silver Hand. He felt like he'd hardly slept a wink last night. Skjor didn't look like he had either. So instead he asked, "Job go okay?"

The dark elf's expression soured. "Other than the girl questioning every other decision I made, well enough."

"She does that with everybody."

"Uh huh." Athis looked up at the mountain. "Saw the notice posted at Vilemyr Inn on our way back," he stated. "Wasn't expecting it. Any takers?"

"Not yet, but soon I'm sure."

"Did anyone stop to think that having to go up against the Dragonborn might scare away the prospects? Especially after this little display?"

"It's not like they're going to have to do a one-on-one battle with him or anything. He just wants to take their measure." And see if they were up to no good. Farkas knew Athis was right, that there could be plenty of people who would be a good fit who just didn't want to face off against Edric, especially after finding out he'd flown a dragon to the top of the world to yell at a goddess, but they couldn't risk that maybe the Silver Hand or someone else who meant harm might try to join up. If that happened they could just get up one night and slit everyone's throats. Not that anything much was stopping them from sneaking in and doing that right now.

Gods, he just wanted it over with. He was so sick of the waiting that he could scream.

The elf shrugged. "Fair enough. Still, can't afford to be too picky, can we? In the spring we'll be down to seven. Don't know about you, but even if the money's good, a body has to rest."

"I know. Everyone knows. Edie promised Skjor that he'd get the numbers back up before he left, and he will."

Athis grunted, eyes still on the Throat of the World. "Seems Skjor and the rest of you could be doing a bit more in that department. Just a suggestion."

Farkas didn't know what to say. Athis wasn't wrong, it was just…he was being more confrontational than usual. Farkas wanted to believe that it was a good thing, though. Maybe it was because he'd taken the full lead on a job for the first time. Edric thought that all Athis needed was more responsibility, more trust placed in him, to come into his own, more proof that there was a point to trying a little harder. It seemed that was true. Well of course it was true.

The Dunmer shrugged when Farkas didn't answer right away. "Like I said before, I don't think we've seen the bottom of the hill. Don't like the look of some of the supposed pilgrims in town. The Dragonborn picked a bad time to decide he wanted to talk face-to-face with a Divine. Still not entirely clear on what the reason for it is." Athis turned his blood-red gaze on Farkas, who stared back with poorly hidden panic on his face. The elf waited, and when Farkas didn't volunteer anything he grunted again. "His reasons are his own, I suppose," Athis added. "How long do you think your man is going to be up there?"

"Long as it takes, I guess." He feared that Athis was going to press further, maybe ask  _As long as what takes?_  but the question didn't come.

The elf stood away from the wall, casting a quick look up at the mountain again. "Can't help thinking that whoever or whatever he's talking to seems a bit angry." Athis stared at Farkas for a moment, longer than was comfortable, then his lips pursed and he headed back inside the mead hall.

Farkas watched him go. He didn't need this. His anxiety had just been taken up another notch, and it felt bad. Really bad. He wanted Edric to come home, just to have him around to deal with things, even if the way he did it wasn't always the way someone else would've done it and pissed people off. At least his man got things done and could be relied on to take charge when he had to. No one else could. Aela and Vilkas were unaware of what was going on, or could be going on. Or might be. Gods, he could hardly think straight anymore. He was a nervous wreck.

He finally went inside at lunchtime when Tilma called him in, though his stomach was too tied in knots to eat much. It was raining now, just a light rain, but the clouds were getting darker and threatening to really let loose. They weren't anywhere near as dark as the clouds around the peak of the mountain though. Those were nearly black now, but there wasn't any lightning.

Yet.

After he managed to choke down a few bites he headed for the back door again, only to be met with his scowling twin moving to block the way.

"It isn't helping," Vilkas muttered. "He will not know the difference, if you are there or not."

Farkas replied in annoyance, "I'll know."

"And do you actually think you can do anything if something goes wrong?"

He growled, "You know what? This isn't helping either." He moved around his brother and heard a huff of anger behind him before he heard Aela calling Vilkas' name.

The clouds hadn't gotten any darker in the last fifteen minutes, and after watching for several more he had to grudgingly admit that maybe Vilkas was right. This wasn't helping, and if anything Farkas' worry was a distraction to Edric. Maybe his husband wasn't feeling him up there, in amongst the storm clouds. Edric could have a scary level of focus at times, and when he was praying it was like he didn't even hear or see anything else. Farkas had thought about praying for him, down in the temple, but it was already full of people praying. Same with the plaza around the baby tree, and how would Kyne hear him when so many others were doing the same right now, and with Edric shouting in her ears?

His mate felt quieter now though, and there was a certain sound to the thunder, a natural sound, that told Farkas that it wasn't Edric making it. He couldn't feel anything from him other than that he was there, and he chose to take that as a good sign.

It began to pour, and at that Farkas finally gave up. Just standing out here watching the mountain and stressing himself out couldn't be helping Edric, could only hurt by being a distraction. The city was quiet for how packed full it was, even the Skyforge silent today. Eorlund and Avulstein were still trying to figure out how to forge dragon remains, and they usually worked no matter the weather, but not today. It was like the whole city was holding its breath and watching the mountain, just like Farkas was. He had to wonder how much worse it was in Ivarstead today.

Farkas considered going down to Breezehome to look at the house, maybe start making plans for what he could do with it while Edric was gone, but thinking about his man leaving Skyrim was too hard to deal with, and the idea of walking alone through a city that was probably full of the Silver Hand was too scary even for him. He wouldn't have minded hanging out with Valdimar either, just talking and getting to know the guy that was going to be protecting his husband, but again, Silver Hand in the city.

Gods, he couldn't handle this. Usually he could deal with almost anything, but not knowing this while his man was so far away, doing something so dangerous. How was he going to manage when Edric was  _really_ gone, hundreds of miles away in the south? If he had felt all this frustration and anger and fear since yesterday, what was he going to feel from someone who was fighting in a war zone?

He rubbed his hands over his face then left them there, trying to get a grip on himself. Edric needed him to stay strong.

"Farkas."

He looked up and saw Njada sticking her head out of the back door. He hadn't even heard it open.

"You've got visitors," she said curtly, then let the door fall shut behind her.

Visitors. He didn't get visitors. He never even got  _a_  visitor let alone more than one.

He went inside Jorrvaskr, and his heart sank when he saw who was standing on the opposite side of the hall, bags and bundles at their feet, being sniffed over with excitement by Meeko. Some guard dog he was.

"Farkas!" Gerdur cried in greeting, waving her hand at him. "Hi! We've come for the Festival!" She patted the shoulders of the sturdy teen between her and Hod. "And we brought Frodnar. He wanted to see inside Jorrvaskr. I hope that's all right."

Oh... _shit_.

Gerdur and Hod glanced at each other, the woman's smile fading. "Is that...not all right?"

Farkas made his feet move. "No, it's okay," he assured them. The others were still sitting around the fire eating lunch, and his brother of course was frowning, but it wasn't really a mad frown, just the usual scowl he'd carried for most of the last year. Skjor wasn't here, or Ria, but everyone else was, and none of them seemed to have a problem with Edric's kin being here. And they were sort of Farkas' too, now, kin-by-marriage. He liked the idea of that.

When he reached them he shook Hod's hand then kissed Gerdur on the cheek when she tapped it, then Hod nudged his son. Frodnar held out his hand, and Farkas looked it over before shaking it, afraid he was going to find a spider or snot or something on the kid's hand. No one was safe from Frodnar's pranks, though hopefully he'd never tried to pull any on Edric. Who was he kidding; of course the kid had at some point. "Where's your dog?" Farkas asked. Meeko seemed more interested in Frodnar than the other two, probably because he smelled the other dog all over him.

Gerdur said, "Stump stayed back in Riverwood with Dorthe and her parents. He's getting old, and he never behaves himself in the city. Too many people." She leaned down and petted Meeko. "And just how old are you, yeah? Don't see any gray in your muzzle yet."

"Don't know. Not too old I hope." Farkas nibbled at his lip. "So uh...this is Jorrvaskr."

"So it is," she said with a smile. "Never seen the inside before. It's as grand as I expected."

Hod nodded. "A true warrior's hall," he said in approval. He nudged his son. "What do you think, boy?"

Frodnar looked around the room, his eyes taking in the Companions at the tables then moving up to Farkas. "I...think it's...um," he mumbled. He cleared his throat when his father nudged him again. "Quite grand, sir," he finished, his voice cracking.

Sir. Farkas didn't think anyone had ever called him that. Ever. It was nice to get some respect, especially from a kid who had been a pain in the ass to everyone who had ever passed through Riverwood, but on the other hand it also made him feel really damn old. Farkas wasn't wearing any armor, but he knew he was still a big guy, and kind of intimidating looking, and right now he wasn't feeling very happy and it probably showed.

He asked, "So, just get in? Where are you staying?" The inn had filled up long ago, and everyone who had a spare room or even space on the floor had already rented it out. There was a proper little tent city springing up outside the entrance to Whiterun, and the inside of the walls were lined with them too.

Hod said, "Oh, we'll set up somewhere. We can always sleep in the wagon if we have to."

Farkas frowned at that. It was cold, and raining, and maybe that was good enough for pilgrims, but not for Edric's family. "You can stay in Edie's house," he offered. "It's warm and dry, and there's an extra bed, a big one. You two can sleep in it and Frodnar can find a spot to put out a bedroll."

Their eyes widened, and Gerdur stammered, "Oh, no no, we couldn't impose-"

"It's not imposing. Not at all. You're Edie's kin, and that makes you mine too. You can stay in Breezehome. Not a problem." Hod and Gerdur just about fell over themselves thanking him, and it was nice, really nice, but a little embarrassing too, and it gave him just a taste of what Edric had dealt with for the last three and a half years. It felt good though, doing something for someone. It wasn't as if this cost either him or Edric anything, either. No one was sleeping in the bed, and they'd be safer in the house. It wasn't a comfortable feeling, knowing that people knew they were the Dragonborn's kin. People who felt they couldn't get at Edric might want to get at Gerdur and Hod. He knew Edric wouldn't mind at all if his kin stayed in Breezehome, and the house was Farkas' too.

He went to get his cloak and sword downstairs, along with the key to the house, and saw Skjor at the desk in the Harbinger's sitting room, writing, and the old warrior was so focused on what he was doing that Farkas let him be. He probably had a lot on his mind.

Upstairs he slung the baldric over his head then put on the cloak, looking at his shield-siblings, wondering who to take along. His brother was already rising from his seat, looking crabby. "I'm taking Edie's kin to Breezehome," he stated. "Could use some backup with all the crowds."

"Aye," Vilkas said shortly.

Farkas watched his twin head downstairs and felt a touch of relief. Whatever else was going on with him, Vilkas could always be guaranteed to be at your back, especially if you made him feel like you needed him. And Farkas did, that wasn't a lie. He would've rather had Athis along, since the elf had a cooler head, but Athis was comfortable with his feet up on a table and still tired from the job. The crowds wouldn't help Vilkas' touchiness, and gods help everyone if something went wrong and blood was spilled, but Farkas would just have to deal with that if it happened.

"We truly appreciate this, Farkas," Gerdur repeated.

"Not a problem," Farkas also repeated. "Edie would do the same if he was here."

Hod grimaced and said, "Uh, yeah, about that…"

"He's up there doing what he's gotta do, and that's all I'm gonna say about it." They let it go, thankfully. He really wasn't going to say any more about it and that was that. He didn't know how to explain it, so he wasn't going to try.

Vilkas was quick to return, and he nodded in greeting to Hod and Gerdur. Farkas knew his twin was curious about the inside of Breezehome, but if Farkas had brought that up Vilkas would've dug in and pretended he didn't want to see it. Farkas was going to need help with the house after Edric was gone, and hopefully Vilkas would be cured by then and things wouldn't be so hard.

The family gathered up their belongings and they all headed out, Farkas calling the dog with him. Edric had been insistent that he keep the dog with him, especially at night, and Farkas saw the wisdom in that. No matter that he was a werewolf, his senses weren't as strong as a dog's unless he was in wolf form. Strong, but not that strong. Meeko was more than happy to go, eager to smell everything and everyone. The dog probably needed some exercise, too.

As they neared the market Meeko yipped and ran off, and Farkas cursed under his breath and resisted the urge to run after him. "Meeko!" he yelled. "Meeko, get back here!" The dog was gone, and he grumbled in annoyance as they kept walking. It was all he could do. The city was crowded, and the market  _really_ crowded, and he wasn't going to separate from his husband's kin, or his brother, to go look for a goddamn dog.

Gerdur laughed, "He minds about as well as old Stump ever does."

"Yeah," Farkas chuckled uneasily. He heard barking between the buildings, several dogs barking, and muttered, "Goddamn dog." There weren't any other dogs in the city normally, but at least a few pilgrims must have brought theirs along. That wasn't a happy thought. At all.

"Eh, where can he go?" Hod said in a reasonable tone. "It's a walled city, yeah?"

"Yeah," Farkas repeated. He sounded almost as worried as he felt.

Vilkas said, "We will look for him after we get them settled. If he gets into a fight, it's his own damn fault."

Appalled, Farkas said, "Meeko would never get in a fight. He's a nice dog." Vilkas grunted, not arguing but not agreeing either. Still, it was good to see his twin's eyes looking over everything and everyone intently. Distrustfully. Farkas tried not to do the same, or at least not make it as obvious as Vilkas was, and he felt horrible that he couldn't say anything about Edric's belief that the Hand was in the city. He didn't dare. Vilkas would raise a ruckus and everything would go to Oblivion, and innocent people could caught in the middle.

Gods, but Vilkas was going to lose his shit if something happened.

And Edric would be very unhappy if something happened to Meeko. So would Farkas. Meeko was  _their_ dog, theirs together. It was understood that part of the reason Edric had wanted the dog close to Farkas was so that he could protect the dog as much as the dog was keeping watch over him. He never should've taken him out of Jorrvaskr!

They reached Breezehome and Farkas knocked on the door then called, "It's Farkas," and unlocked it. Erik and Valdimar were rising from the dining table in the back, where the map was laid out, and Farkas let everyone in as he explained, "These folks are Edric's kin. His sister-by-marriage and her family. They need a place to stay while the Festival's going on." The housecarl nodded and gave them a little bow, though his eyes lingered on Farkas' in a questioning way. "I thought they could sleep upstairs in the big bedroom."

Valdimar vowed, "I will see to it that they are taken care of."

Farkas introduced them then at Valdimar's direction Erik showed them upstairs, Gerdur and Hod saying nice things about the house on the way. And it was a nice house, not as big as theirs in Riverwood but nice all the same. He glanced at Vilkas and his brother had his back against the door and was looking over the house with a tense, glum expression. Farkas could only guess what he was thinking, about the house that they would never have together. Maybe he shouldn't have brought Vilkas along after all.

"This is unexpected, I take it," the housecarl said as quietly as possible.

"Yeah, very," Farkas replied. "I couldn't leave them to sleep out in a tent, or their wagon. It isn't right. Or safe."

Valdimar's brows drew together. "One would hope that they're being watched over."

"I'm not so sure they are," Farkas admitted. Edric had never said a word about them being in any kind of danger due to their relation to Ralof, now that everything was out in the open, though he'd implied plenty of times that it was one of the reasons he'd kept their marriage a secret in the past.

Vilkas drawled, "Odd, that the great Dragonborn doesn't have that all worked out."

Farkas slowly turned and looked at him in warning.

Valdimar stated, "Even a hero has blind spots, Companion. My lord does his best with the demands upon his time and attention."

" _Lord_ ," Vilkas sneered, his face scrunched up like something tasted bad.

The older man drew himself up, as if spoiling for an argument, then Gerdur and Hod saved them all by coming back down the stairs, their son and Erik behind them.

"Oh, the house is charming, Farkas," Gerdur said in approval. "I can see you two with a couple little ones in here. Very cozy." Frodnar rushed past her to look goggle-eyed at the suit of ebony armor. "You'll touch nothing in this house, young man," she warned. "You'll not even breathe on any of it."

Frodnar's eyes traveled up to the wall plaque, and he whispered, "That's the sword that killed Alduin." He shivered and looked at Farkas. "Right? He killed Alduin with that sword right there."

Farkas nodded. "Yeah, in Sovngarde, and you're not gonna say a word to him about it when he comes down off that mountain," he ordered, trying not to growl. The kid didn't mean any harm, Farkas knew that, but he didn't trust the kid's judgment either. The odds of Edric coming back happy from the Throat of the World were slim, and having Frodnar pester him would only make things worse.

"But-"

"Not one word," Hod demanded, a touch of anger in his voice. "Damn it lad, think about it for a moment, won't you."

Gerdur added sternly, "Think about the last time Edric was up on that mountain, and in what condition, and after who he saw in Sovngarde.  _Not. One. Word_."

"Yes ma'am, sir," Frodnar whispered, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, then he glanced at Farkas. "Yes sir."

Farkas grunted and nodded. At least the kid seemed to be taking it seriously, as he damn well should, and it seemed Gerdur and Hod were finally taking their kid in hand. Better late than never.

Gerdur blew out a breath and forced a cheerful expression on her face. "Now!" she said. "I should ah, warn you. Farkas. So you can warn Edric, when he gets back."

"Yeah?" Farkas asked with dread. What now? He didn't think he could take much more right now.

"We had a little, eh...company on the way to Whiterun," Hod explained. "Couldn't rightly tell him no when he asked to go with."

"And we felt a little better for it," Gerdur went on. "We can handle ourselves all right, but neither of us are warriors, or...um, well, soldiers."

Hod grimaced, as if he was trying to smile and failing. "Or, eh, former soldiers?"

Farkas felt every bit of color run out of his face.

**Vilkas**

"Edie's going to be pissed," Farkas fretted. "This is bad. This is…" Farkas gurgled, giving off whiffs of stress that were evident even with the press of people around them in the street.

"I have no idea who this Hadvar is," Vilkas stated. All he knew was that Hadvar was a former soldier from Riverwood and that Farkas had looked like he'd seen a ghost when the man was mentioned.

"They knew each other when they were kids. Teenagers. Hadvar grew up with Ralof, and he was recruited to the Legion same time as Edie-"

"Ysmir's beard, must you call him that constantly!" Every time he thought he might be getting used to it-

"Yeah, I must, so deal with it." Farkas yanked his cloak tight around himself then folded his arms. "There's bad blood between him and Hadvar. They were at Helgen together. Hadvar was at the Battle of Solitude and stayed behind when the Legion pulled out, and won't say why." He motioned to his forehead then folded his arms again. "I think he got wounded and left for dead. He's got a nasty scar on his forehead, and I think that's what happened. The two of them got into it both of the last two times Edie went through Riverwood. That he's here now isn't good. At all."

Vilkas couldn't argue with that. He muttered, "I don't like this. Any of this." While he had to admit that he found the notion of this Hadvar person coming to Whiterun just to get under Edric's skin utterly delightful, the timing of it, like so much else lately, was bad. It was obvious that that was exactly what Hadvar was doing here. They hardly needed that kind of turmoil added to what was an already volatile situation in the hall. Hadvar hadn't shown himself yet, so he was somewhere in town, doing gods knew what. Perhaps just waiting for Edric's return.

"Me neither." Farkas huffed in frustration. "Where's that damn dog?"

"Come on," Vilkas sighed. "He went between Arcadia's and Belethor's." He hardly wanted to spend his time finding his brother's errant pet, with the rain coming down heavier every hour. And the people here...too many people. The city had never been so crowded for the Festival in his living memory. All the bodies and voices and smells were making his skin crawl. There was a miasma of anxiety that hung in the air, an edge to people's voices and pungent tang to their scents that grated on his senses.

His eyes moved up to the mountain, where instead of churning the black clouds were now starting to slowly circle around the summit like a maelstrom. It was casting a pall over the upcoming Festival, one that Vilkas didn't think Vignar had counted on. The weather was rarely good this time of year regardless, but at least it was usually dry, and having this looming over everything had put a damper on what had traditionally been a cheerful, lively occasion. People always came early, using the time to trade, to socialize, and they were doing so, but it was in hushed tones, and no one's gaze left the Throat of the World for long.

The twins made their way through the market, the crowds parting for them as they always did, the two of them tall and forbidding, cloaked and clearly armed, looking none too happy. There wasn't much to be happy about at the moment, with a lost dog, miserable rain to contend with and a Divine's displeasure staring them in the face.

Vilkas looked up again, and the clouds seemed to have sped up in their endless march around the peak. And were they darker? He wanted to believe it was his imagination, but he had never been particularly imaginative or whimsical. No, the clouds were blacker, and now there was a flicker of lightning in there as well, and ten seconds later an especially loud peal of thunder.

"F-fuck," Farkas whispered, voice shaking as his steps stuttered a bit.

"We're going back," Vilkas demanded as he came to a stop. "The dog will have to wait." He could just imagine what the cause of his brother's new distress was, and he wasn't about to have Farkas vicariously experience out in public whatever the Dragonborn was going through up there. All because of the damned bond.

"I promised Edie I'd keep the dog with me! I have to find him!"

"I'll find-"

"No, we have to stick together!"

Disquieted, Vilkas shook his head and studied his twin. Farkas was truly upset, on the edge of panic. Farkas, the quiet, calm one. "What's wrong?" Vilkas asked in a lowered voice. A clap of thunder rolled down the mountain and Farkas shuddered, eyes wide. Vilkas moved close to his twin and whispered, "We have to go home,  _now_." He couldn't risk Farkas falling apart in public. There were already too many people watching them, but all he could hope was that they assumed Farkas' behavior was nothing more than worry over his partner.

"Not without Meeko."

Vilkas shook his head and took Farkas' arm and pulled him along. "Then we need to get to it."

The two of them searched through the market with no sign of the dog. There were happy, raucous sounds coming from the inn, people singing along with Mikael and what sounded like several other bards, but it wasn't working for Vilkas, not right now. The singing and laughter sounded a touch forced to his ears, but then his ears weren't particularly objective right now.

A guard pointed a thumb over his shoulder and they nodded and went that direction, between the alchemist's and the general store.

Tents lined the walls, taking what shelter they could get. Surely Sinmir and his people were going to stop allowing any new campers to set up inside the city walls? There were more people here than in years past, due to the new Gildergreen, and maybe even because of Edric, the people wanting to see the Dragonborn after so many years of him hiding his appearance. Word had circulated of what he looked like, but people would want to see him with their own eyes.

Farkas cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "Meeko!"

Vilkas put his fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly, but there was no sign of the dog, or of the other dogs that had been heard barking.

He growled under his breath, feeling the aggravation building, and went to the first guard he saw and asked, "Did you see a dog go through here? Big grayish-brown wolfhound."

"Aye," the woman said, gesturing back towards the gates. "Couple of fellas were leading it off with their other dogs. Why?"

Farkas cried in dismay, "He isn't their dog, he's mine!"

"And the Dragonborn's," Vilkas added ominously. "Are you saying someone is stealing the Dragonborn's dog?" The guard's eyes widened and she took off. Good. Let someone else do the footwork.

The two Companions followed, and Farkas moaned, "This is the worst day ever."

Vilkas sputtered. "Hardly. Wouldn't you say the day you nearly died-"

"It's a figure of speech, damn it." Farkas grumbled and went on in an anxious tone, "I should've kept the dog home. I should've known with all the people here that there'd be trouble. Why does everything have to happen all at once?"

Vilkas grunted in response, the only response he could manage without being snide. His brother was acting like a child, and it was unbecoming. Vilkas' own behavior was frequently unbecoming, but it wasn't...gross, like this was. Whiny.

 _Quit your sniveling, pup. Man up, boy_.

No. Hell no. He wasn't going to say a word to his brother about it. He wasn't his asshole father. An asshole, yes, but he wasn't his father. Farkas was stressed out, worst of all by what he was feeling from Edric, whatever that was, and then to have Edric's kin arrive unannounced and find out that this Hadvar fellow had come along which was sure to displease his lover, and then to have the dog go missing… All right, yes, it was a lot for someone to manage, especially someone like Farkas, even if Farkas had signed up for every bit of it.

They heard the commotion behind Warmaiden's before they saw it, and Vilkas felt the built-up aggravation turn to anger when he saw Meeko with a rope around his neck, held tight in the fist of some disreputable-looking thug. The other one looked just as unsavory, with two other dogs on leather leads attached to heavy leather collars. Several guards including the one they had just talked to had their hands on their weapons, not yet drawn. Meeko began to struggle and whine when he saw Farkas, making the man yank him back, and the sight made Vilkas nearly see red.

"Hey, get your hands off my fucking dog!" Farkas shouted as he strode forward.

The other dogs began to snarl and lunge towards the twins, and Vilkas grabbed his brother's shoulder to stop him. The two men stared coldly, and Vilkas felt his anger evaporate, replaced with uneasiness.

A guard said to the men, "The Companions claim this is the Dragonborn's dog. What say you?"

"The mutt came at us," the man holding Meeko said. "It was running wild in the streets." His eyes continued to bore into the twins. "Probably should be put down."

"Nothing but a stray," the other stated. "It attacked our dog."

"Bullshit," Farkas spat. "Meeko wouldn't hurt a fly. You stole my goddamn dog and you know it."

The other dogs continued to growl and pull against the leash, eyes wild. Vilkas didn't think much of it, on its own; dogs reacted to werewolves, he knew that. But their being leashed was unsettling. Few people leashed their dogs, and any dog that needed leashing shouldn't be brought into populated areas. And there was something about the two men that made Vilkas' skin crawl.

He said to the guards, "Perhaps they should be held until the Dragonborn gets back and let him sort it out." Instead of being frightened the two men simply continued to stare at Vilkas and Farkas.

"Maybe so," another guard said. "Or they could release the dog now and go on their way without any further trouble."

"That too," Vilkas agreed. The two seemed like the type that weren't inclined to go on their merry way without causing problems, but after continuing their unsettling stares for several seconds longer the one holding Meeko loosened the rope around the dog's neck. Meeko immediately bolted with his tail between his legs and ran to Farkas, who knelt down to hug the dog and comfort him. Vilkas kept his eyes on the thugs, and the two never broke eye contact.

"All good here, then?" the female guard asked, her tone implying that she certainly hoped so.

Farkas muttered, "Yeah." He scowled at the men. "I'm gonna remember you two assholes."

Vilkas' eyes narrowed as the one with the aggressive dogs grinned lopsidedly, creepily, eyes shining, then the other grabbed his comrade's arm and pulled him away. Vilkas watched them go, and he nearly suggested to the guards that they keep an eye on the two before realizing it was pointless. The guards were stretched thin as it was, and there were too many people here in Whiterun to keep track of. Maybe they were just opportunistic thieves, but that was the norm during the Festival, and anyone who wasn't watching their back and their coin purse even in the normal course of things was a fool. Still, it had been idiotic of them to try to keep Meeko after realizing who he belonged to, while faced with two Companions. Ballsy, but it had been obvious from the light in that second one's eyes that he wasn't quite right in the head.

Farkas huffed and turned his attention back to the dog. "You poor boy," he mumbled. "That was pretty scary, huh? And you're all wet too. I should've left you at home."

"He's fine," Vilkas sighed. "Can we go now? He isn't the only one getting wet."

"Yeah." He stood and the dog leaned against his leg shivering. As they started back to Jorrvaskr, Farkas bumped his shoulder against his brother's and said with gratitude, "Thanks, Vilkas. I'm glad you were there."

Touched, Vilkas murmured, "It was nothing." His tone firmed as he added, "Keep the dog inside the hall, if he can't be trusted to stay where he belongs."

"I know, but he needed to get out and get some exercise. I think he saw the other dogs and was just trying to be friendly."

"Well, the other dogs were not. They were smaller than him but could have torn him up." They had been handsome dogs, stocky, with smooth gray coats and wide heads, a breed he wasn't familiar with, but they had looked like they would tear your throat out as soon as look at you. They had no business being in the thick of a city, especially one as crowded as Whiterun currently was.

Farkas' face fell. "That would've been awful. Edie would be so… He had a dog that died, when he was a kid. He said he cried for hours. I hate it when he cries."

"I'm sure," Vilkas muttered. Wonderful. He did  _not_ need to know that. The times that he had heard or seen Edric cry were seared into his memory, and he would rather not add to it with the horrid mental image of an innocent child-Edric weeping over a dead dog.

They made it back to Jorrvaskr without further mishap, where Farkas took the dog to the fire to dry out. The big lug set his sword on the floor and sat down to pet Meeko, who lapped up the attention, licking Farkas' face, making him laugh.

Vilkas shuddered and made a face of disgust and headed downstairs. Edric would have been just as horrified to see his man's face covered in dog slobber, if not more so, and he certainly would not kiss him knowing it had happened. Perhaps Edric and Farkas both were little better than animals at times, but he knew that was where the Dragonborn would draw the line.

Dinner that evening was a restrained affair, with barely a word spoken around the table. The boom and crack of thunder was nonstop now, with Edric's voice rising above it all, a steady stream of dragon tongue, setting everyone's nerves on edge. Flashes of lightning came every eight or nine seconds, shining blindingly through the windows. It was infuriating that once again the Dragonborn's selfishness was costing everyone else. Edric could have lived very well the rest of his life without Kynareth's blessing. None of this...this  _spectacle_ was necessary. At all.

What was most infuriating however was seeing his twin sitting staring at the fire, shaking, eyes wide, barely touching his food, and when Edric's voice rose to a near scream and he shouted  _Zu'u fen ni ofan vok ahmuli!_  and Farkas whimpered, that was it. That was absolutely it.

"We are going downstairs," Vilkas said through gritted teeth. " _Now_." Farkas shook his head, and Vilkas growled and shoved his chair back. He heard Edric shout the same sentence again and Farkas react, and he went to his brother and grabbed his arm and hauled on it. "Get up."

Skjor warned, "Let him be, Vilkas."

"This is bullshit," he hissed. "How is this worth it to him, that he's doing this to my brother? To the city? The whole of Skyrim can hear him!"

Aela said in an unsteady voice, "I doubt even Edric wanted this to happen. But he's in it now. Do you expect him to stop at this point?"

The Harbinger stated, "If I'd known this would happen, I would've tried to talk him out of it. Would I have succeeded? Doubtful, but I would have tried. Do I like it? No. Do I think it's worth it? No. Am I more than a little pissed off at him for subjecting everyone to this? Yes, and right now I'd love to kick his ass for it. So if you have some way of getting me to the top of the mountain so I can insert myself between an angry goddess and the Dragonborn and put a stop to this, I'm all ears."

Vilkas' rage faltered, though the anger continued to simmer. It helped to know that Skjor was pissed about this too. The others at the table were tense, Njada's hands tight around her mug, Ria's knees drawn up in her chair, and Athis… Athis was watching the Circle with glittering red eyes and pursed lips, his gaze resting on each of them as they spoke but returning time and again to Farkas.

The Dunmer raised his voice and asked with surprising calm, "And still, no one has explained exactly what it is that he's doing up there. And why."

"Nor will we," Skjor stated with an edge to his voice. "This is something he felt called to do. I don't disagree with his decision to do it. A man's relationship with the Divines is his own business, and his devotion to Kynareth is admirable. What I have a problem with is his terrifying everyone. I know it wasn't his intent-"

"This time," Vilkas interjected.

"Yes, this time, and as Aela said, he's too far in now to put a stop to it. I don't like it, not one bit, but it will be his job to fix things when he gets back." He rose from the table. "End of discussion."

Vilkas grumbled and shook his head, watching the Harbinger go to the kitchen, where Tilma stood in the doorway looking anxious. Skjor put his hands on her shoulders and murmured to her, his tone gentle, then he steered her further in.

Lucia came out as Vilkas heard the door to Tilma's quarters close, and the girl hesitated before slowly approaching the table, her eyes darting towards the twins. Njada called out to her in a reassuring way and the girl relaxed and came over to begin clearing the dinner dishes. Ria and Athis spoke gently with her as well, but Aela seemed preoccupied, maybe even a touch anxious. Vilkas didn't know what she felt, if anything, through the faint bond that a forebear and their offspring felt. He and Farkas heeded Skjor and found his presence calming, but it went no further than that, but then they weren't Dragonborn. Vilkas couldn't say how that might change things, if it even did, and he wasn't about to ask.

Farkas finally consented to being herded downstairs, though he refused to go without the dog. Vilkas didn't want the mutt in the living areas, but if it made his brother feel better he wasn't going to try to talk him out of it.

The sound of thunder and the Dragonborn's voice were only slightly muted downstairs, but the lightning was no longer visible. He got Farkas to his room then directed him to sit down, and when Farkas grabbed for him he let his twin pull him down next to him. Farkas grabbed Edric's pillow and hugged it to his chest, and Vilkas could smell him on it, wolf and dragon and man, overlaid with the strong scent of the juniper berry oil that Edric used in his hair. The bed smelled like Edric and Farkas, and it was...pleasant. The room was homey, lived in, with a small table set aside for Farkas' carving, next to a chair in the corner, next to which were stacked Edric's books. Those should be on a shelf, not sitting on the stone floor.

Farkas leaned against him and whispered, "I'm scared, Vilkas. Scared for him. I don't-"

" _ZU'U FEN NI OFAN VOK AHMULI!_ "

The ground shook with the force of the roar, and Farkas whined loudly as his whole body trembled. "Why does he keep saying that!"

"Saying what?" Vilkas whispered.

" _Ahmuli_. It means my husband. What does any of this have to do with me! This isn't supposed to have anything to do with me!"

Vilkas put his arm around his brother, trying to be supportive while seething with resentment. No, this shouldn't have anything to do with Farkas, and yet Edric was at the Throat of the World shouting at Kyne about him. He grumbled, "Maybe she's trying to get him to give up the beastblood. Which would mean giving up the bond between you." Which of course Edric would not want to do, not even to regain the favor of the Divine. The Dragonborn's devotion to his mate was greater than his devotion to anything else, Vilkas admitted that.

"Oh," Farkas whispered, seeming to calm a little. "Yeah. That...that makes sense."

After several seconds of silence he offered, "He is persistent, if nothing else."

"Yeah," Farkas chuckled weakly. Meeko left off his sniffing about the room to sit at Farkas' feet, leaning against his knee, and Farkas petted him, earning him a panting grin. "Poor boy. Those two guys were so...creepy."

"They were," Vilkas agreed. "There are always a few lowlives about during the Festival, looking for things to steal. One can only hope that they keep their mutts under control. A child could approach it and get bitten. You're lucky they didn't harm Meeko other than giving him a fright."

"Yeah."

"Maybe you should consider getting him a collar. For identification, if nothing else. Get your name, or Edric's, stamped into it."

"Maybe."

Vilkas squeezed his twin's shoulder then rose to his feet, and Farkas caught his hand with a pleading look.

"Stay, please," Farkas begged. "I'll sleep on Edie's side. You can read his books. Just stay."

"All right." He couldn't say no to his brother when he looked and sounded like that.

Farkas collected himself enough to brush and groom the dog while Vilkas looked over the stack of books, the ones Farkas had shown him a week earlier, and chose  _Fall of the Snow Prince_.

Snow elves. It still didn't seem possible that they had ever been real, or that they were now Falmer. There was little resembling an elf left in the pathetic creatures other than their ears, but the mer in their name was clue enough, and Vilkas didn't doubt Edric's word.

He took a seat in the corner chair, and there was a muffled shout of something else, something different than Edric had shouted before about his husband. Vilkas saw his brother go still, eyes wide, then he continued brushing the dog in wooden motions. By the Nine, he hated Edric for doing this to Farkas. His twin was acting traumatized. It brought up every protective instinct Vilkas had, and none of it could go anywhere.

He wrestled with his animosity towards Edric for several moments before getting himself in hand. Hating Edric wasn't going to help Farkas any. He could resent his brother's lover all he wanted while trying to help Farkas, and all he could do in that regard was to distract him from the feelings that the bond was inflicting on him.

He took a deep breath and opened the book. "From whence he came we did not know, but into the battle he rode, on a brilliant steed of pallid white," he began to read. "Elf we called him, for Elf he was, yet unlike any other of his kind we had ever seen before that day." He looked at Farkas and saw that the anxiety in him had eased a little and he was watching Vilkas with a grateful expression. Funny how both Farkas and the dog had that same sweet, guileless look in their eyes.

Two chapters in the dog was groomed and sleeping on the rug on Edric's side of the bed, where Farkas lay with his nose turned into the pillow but his eyes still on Vilkas. Good. As long as he could keep his twin focused on him and not the nightmare playing out 20,000 feet over their heads, it was good. And how was Edric even able to breathe the air at that altitude and keep shouting as he was? As he had been for nearly a full day straight? How was his throat not raw at this point? Perhaps he hadn't been shouting at full strength the entire time, just...chanting or whatever it was that priests did, but still, how? Vilkas remembered how hoarse Edric's voice had been that day in Windhelm a year ago, after screaming out his grief after Sovngarde, so what was he going to sound like when he returned?

He heard others readying for bed, shuffling about in the downstairs hall, then Skjor's outer doors closing. Farkas' eyes were shut but his breathing wasn't that of sleep, so Vilkas softened his voice as he continued to read. It was an engrossing tale, tragic, but reading it out loud made it more difficult to lose himself in it. He enjoyed this though, even with the storm overhead making it hard to relax. It had been a year or more since he had read to his brother. It was something he had done their entire lives, and he had never resented it. Regretted whatever disability it was that turned words into nonsense for Farkas, yes, always, but never resented having to read to him. He wondered if Edric ever read to Farkas, with all the books in here. Surely he did.

A snore startled both the dog and Vilkas, and he stopped reading out loud. Farkas twitched and let out a soft growl, and Meeko sat up and watched his master for a few seconds before lying back down on the rug. Vilkas watched his twin sleep for over a minute, thinking about nothing in particular, enjoying the relative quiet and the simple act of being in the same room without any conflict between them, then he picked up the book and read to himself for a bit longer before getting up to go relieve himself for the night and clean his teeth.

Aela's door was open, and he hoped to all that was holy that she wasn't out hunting alone. She seemed to have curbed that habit since Edric had come along, since the night he had found Farkas on the plains, which Vilkas was thankful for. They were too few in this hall as it was, and he wasn't keen on losing a sister in addition to his foster father. Her scent was somewhat fresh in the room, so she had been there only minutes ago, but surely,  _surely_ , she wasn't out hunting alone, especially on a night like this.

He took care of business then stopped by his room to get his own blankets. He may have agreed to sleep next to his brother, but he wasn't getting under the covers. Forget it. Gods only knew… well, no, he knew what the two of them got up to, and he wasn't sleeping on those sheets.

Aela still wasn't in her room, though the juniors were all abed, and he walked back out into the main hallway to listen. Though the storm still raged overhead, Jorrvaskr itself was silent except for the sound of the ancient timbers shifting and settling.

Vilkas huffed in worry and was seconds away from going upstairs when he heard a muffled moan coming from the Harbinger's quarters. It was too high-pitched to be Skjor having a dream, and with a sinking realization and growing irritation Vilkas moved closer to the doors. He put his ear to the seam and heard the faint rhythmic creaking of a bed then Skjor's voice murmuring and another that was quite obviously Aela responding in a whimper.

"What the fuck," Vilkas growled in disbelief. Again? They were going at it again? Not under the influence of the moons, either, and worse yet under Jorrvaskr's roof.  _In the Harbinger's bed_ , of all places, the bed Kodlak had died in.

Furious, he stomped back to Farkas' room and stopped himself just in time from slamming the door shut, and then again just in time from waking his brother just to have someone to complain to. Farkas would shrug and say people should do what they wanted as long as it wasn't hurting anyone, and fine, maybe it wasn't, but it was so improper that Vilkas didn't even have words for it. Skjor was the goddamned Harbinger, for Shor's sake! Just when it seemed the Companions couldn't fall any lower, oh no, a new low was just around the corner.

He lay seething on Farkas' side of the bed, nowhere near sleepy. He could swear that he could faintly heard them going at it, though rationally he knew it was only his mind supplying the sounds, the stone walls too thick and the bedroom on the opposite side of the hall, Farkas snoring lightly nearby, with the storm overhead. He lay there and finally,  _finally_ , he heard the doors open then close, and perhaps ten minutes later Aela's door closing. The Huntress was particular if nothing else, and she had no doubt bathed after the liaison, as she was always first to do after the spring heat.

Vilkas was certain that she was the one who had instigated it tonight. She had the first time, though he had to admit that he understood why it had happened then, but this, this had no excuse other than pure human lust. Skjor was old enough to be her father! Aela had always been clear that she wasn't attracted to any of the males in the Circle, and that while she might want children someday she didn't want to mate with anyone permanently or settle down, let alone with any of them. So why? What on Nirn was she thinking, risking an accidental mating like this? And beyond everything else that was wrong with it, how could they be fucking around with what was going on above the mountain?

He finally drifted into a fitful sleep, and when he was awakened by a loud cry from Farkas he nearly fell out of bed. The night candle was still burning, so he couldn't have been asleep long. Farkas was just about hyperventilating, eyes wide and terrified as he paced the room, shaking his hands out then clenching them into fists, the dog shivering up against the night stand.

"I can't feel him," he gasped. "He's there but he's not and it  _hurt_ , it hurt so bad. She struck him with lightning and I can't feel him anymore. I can't. He's there and he's not dead but I can't."

Horrified, Vilkas threw back the blankets, his heart hammering from the shock of being awakened in such a manner. Edric had joked about being smited before he flew off on the dragon, but obviously he had pissed off Kynareth so badly that she had struck him down. Vilkas knew that you could survive being hit by lightning, sometimes, and no doubt Edric would find some way to do so. Vilkas would have taken pleasure in Edric's patron deity inflicting that kind of punishment on him if it weren't for what it was doing to Farkas.

He went to his brother and grasped his shoulders to stop his circling, and Farkas looked right through him, as if his eyes wouldn't focus. Vilkas put his hands on his twin's cheeks and gave him a gentle shake, whispering, "Hey, hey, you have to-"

"Why can't I feel him? He's not dead, I know he isn't, but I can't feel him!" His eyes finally focused on Vilkas and filled with tears. "It was like his whole body was on fire and then he was gone, but he's not!"

Aela shoved open the door without bothering to knock, and Vilkas muttered, "He felt Edric get hit by lightning and can't feel him."

"He's alive," she said with certainty. "I'd know if he wasn't." She looked shaken though, wearing only the short linen tunic that she usually slept in, her skin even paler than usual, her hair in disarray. "I knew when the old man passed. I'd know if Edric did." She rubbed her eyes and sighed then went to Farkas. She squeezed his shoulder and suggested, "Maybe he's just...being taught a lesson. Maybe-" Farkas yowled miserably, and Meeko joined in, and Aela's expression turned to one of worry as she shook him and whispered, "You can't, Farkas. The whelps will hear. I'm sorry, but you  _can't_." Farkas whined, and she took his hand and put it over his own mouth. "Shh. We just have to wait it out." She gently herded him towards the bed. "Go lie down. Into the pillow. Do it into the pillow."

Vilkas stared at his twin in disquiet as Farkas did what he was told, throwing himself facedown on the bed to bury his face in the pillow and whimper. The sounds he was making were so inhuman, so animalistic that…

Meeko lifted his head and woofed, looking up at the ceiling, then he growled, long and low.

Vilkas and Aela looked up at the same time, listening. A creak. Several, the floorboards squeaking. Feet on the floor. Booted feet moving about.

"Who is that?" she whispered. "Everyone but Tilma and Lucia are downstairs."

"That isn't Tilma or Lucia," he whispered back, his heart starting to pound again as the dog continued growling. He knew the sounds of Jorrvaskr better than his own heartbeat, knew the unique footsteps of everyone who lived here. The footsteps were coming from two directions: the front and back doors.

"Shit." Aela dashed out of the room and ran for Skjor.

Vilkas leaned down and shook his brother hard. "Farkas, there's someone in the hall," he said urgently. "Get up!"

Farkas squinted up at him, confused, eyes bleary. "What?" he croaked.

"There are people walking around upstairs!" He listened intently as Farkas dragged himself upright, barely coherent, while the dog paced and growled, looking at the ceiling. There were at least a dozen people up there now. They weren't being robbed; they were being attacked.

He ran from the room and to his own to grab his sword as Skjor ran by in nothing but a pair of sleep pants, sword in hand, while Aela grabbed up her own weapons. He jogged down the hall as Farkas was coming out of his room, moving sluggishly, the frantic dog at his heels, Edric's enchanted great-sword in his hand instead of his own, maybe grabbed by mistake but not a weapon he was intimately familiar with no matter how fine it was. He would be useless. "Stay in your room!" he hissed behind him. At that Farkas seemed to come to himself more, his eyes focusing, though he still looked a bit dazed.

Skjor roused the juniors as the first scream was heard upstairs, shrill and girlish, and Vilkas snarled furiously and flung open the door and ran up the stairs, just as a Redguard with a sack over his shoulder dashed away. "I'll carve you into pieces!" he roared, heading straight for the first one. Silver Hand. Silver fucking Hand. They had wolf tails on their belts, some of them werewolf tails, and that sadistic gleam in their eyes that was common to every single one of the filth.

The ring on his hand burned as he laid into the hunters, Skjor wading into the fight as well. It would serve them right if he shifted here and now and tore them to bits. He took more than a few hits but the bloodlust was on him, his vision glazed with it, only coherent enough to differentiate the enemy from his shield-siblings. They had two dogs, the same ones he and Farkas had seen earlier, and the same two men, and that only served to increase his fury. They had been here for days, in the city. The city that the Dragonborn had abandoned for the sake of some self-indulgent religious quest.

Aela and Ria chased two of the Hand out the back doors as Athis took down one of the dogs and Meeko savaged its handler's leg. Vilkas was only vaguely aware of the crackle of Edric's great-sword as Farkas fought at his back. Edric. This was Edric's fault, he knew it, he just  _knew_ it. His leaving the city in such a grandiose way had emboldened the Silver Hand to attack tonight, and the storm Edric had caused had given them the cover to do so. The city guards' rounds never approached Jorrvaskr, the guards confident in the Companions' ability to protect themselves and their hall, and so the closest were down in the plaza around the Gildergreen, and the din overhead would cover up the sounds of fighting. The Companions would get no backup here.

Njada cried out the Harbinger's name, and as Vilkas cut down the last of his opponents he felt...something. Something breaking loose. It was unpleasant, feeling suddenly set adrift, as if the line to whatever subtle anchor had spent the last eighteen years holding him in place had been severed.

He roared in rage and hacked at the man he had just felled, until he felt something slam into him then try to yank the blade from his hands. He snarled and lifted the sword then pulled it back at the sight of his brother's face.

"Stop it!" Farkas shouted. "It's over!" Vilkas breathed heavily, teeth bared, and Farkas demanded, "Put the sword down." Vilkas growled, a long gurgling growl full of the beast, hands tightening around the grip. "Skjor's dead, Vilkas," Farkas stated, with a catch in his voice. "He's gone."

Vilkas blinked, and when he felt something run down his forehead he reached up and wiped the back of his wrist across it to get the blood out of his eyes. The violent fog began to clear, against his wishes. "Dead," he rasped. Farkas nodded, jaw clenched. Skjor was dead. His forebear, dead. Farkas' forebear, dead. Another Harbinger, dead. Six. They were now down to six, if you didn't count Edric, and at the moment Vilkas most certainly did not.

"This is his fault," he hissed, his blood starting to howl again. "This is Edric's fault." Farkas stared at him, seeming much too calm for what had just happened, taking much too long to deny it, then his twin shook his head and turned away, a look of grief on his face as he looked down at Skjor's body. "This is his fault!" Vilkas cried. "He should have been here! They came because they knew he wasn't here!"

Athis was on his knees at Skjor's side, holding his own, dark red blood seeping between his fingers. Njada tore the sleeve from her tunic and handed it to him, and he took it and wadded it against the wound as she took off at a running limp out Jorrvaskr's front doors. "Who came?" he demanded, voice tight with pain. Neither twin answered, and the dark elf lowered his voice. "Do you think I'm blind? Deaf?" He reached out with the tip of his sword and used it to lift the long, heavy werewolf tail attached to the belt of the dead woman next to him, the one who had felled Skjor. "Do you think I don't know what this is?" He paused. "What  _you_ are? What all of you are? The Dragonborn didn't bring this here. The Circle did."

A chill descended over Vilkas as he heard Farkas suck in a breath. He didn't want to kill Athis. By Ysmir, he didn't. And even if he did kill him, Njada had seen Athis still alive when she ran for help. "What will you do, then?" he asked, voice still rough with the beast. Gods, he didn't know what to do. Aela and Ria came in the back door, but Vilkas didn't take his eyes from Athis', and the Dunmer didn't waver.

"Some of them went over the wall," Aela called to them in disgust. "Grappling hooks and ropes. They took Wuuthrad."

"So they did," Vilkas murmured.

Farkas whispered in a pleading tone, "Athis. Brother. Please. It isn't what you think."

Athis snorted in derision and replied, "You have not a clue what I think." Ria made a sound of dismay and ran to Skjor's body, her hands going over her mouth as she sank to her knees and her eyes filled with tears. "Two Harbingers gone within two months," Athis stated. "There's a curse upon this hall." Ria licked her lips and looked at Athis, who gazed back then blew a long sigh out his nose, shaking his head.

Aela stood silently, staring at Skjor's corpse on the floor. They were all injured to various degrees, but he had been gutted by the sweep of an axe across his middle by the dead woman next to him. Aela's face was expressionless, but her knuckles were white where they gripped her bow.

Vilkas grumbled and rubbed his face, ignoring the stench of blood as best he could while the beast prickled beneath his skin. Surely this had to be it. Surely  _this_  was the lowest point the Companions could possibly reach. It would go lower still if Athis decided to expose the Circle. They would have to flee. Abandon Jorrvaskr. Vilkas refused to cut down a shield-brother simply to keep a secret, and he would have to kill Ria as well, and Njada, and whoever else she brought in with her...it would never end, and still the Circle would end up exposed. Vilkas would rather live as a beast in the wilds the rest of his unnatural existence than be a murderer. It wasn't worth it.

One of the bodies on the floor groaned, and Vilkas lifted his sword and headed over there, only to be stopped by Aela. "We need to keep one alive," she said. "We need to find out where they went with the pieces." He couldn't argue that, and she turned away to go deal with the wounded Silver Hand.

Farkas fetched a potion from a nearby table and took it to Athis, approaching him warily. The elf stared up at him with pursed lips then set down his blade on the floor. Farkas handed him the healing potion, and Athis pulled the wadded cloth from the wound and inspected it before downing the potion. It wasn't enough to heal it completely, but it stopped the bleeding and began closing it up. He then went to Meeko, who whined as he licked the few superficial wounds he had taken. Farkas blew out a breath of relief and knelt down to hug the dog, who licked his face eagerly.

The sound of a lock turning came from Tilma's quarters by the kitchen, and she poked her head out and surveyed the scene then quickly turned and herded Lucia back into the room before the girl could see anything. All Vilkas could hope was that Tilma hadn't seen Skjor yet. They'd had a special relationship, Skjor always kind to and respectful of her beyond what even Kodlak had been, and Askar before him.

Vilkas turned his gaze back to his forebear, trying to come to terms with what had just happened, and he couldn't. He simply couldn't. The one who had brought him and Farkas into the beast world was gone, the man who had been their greatest mentor other than Kodlak for the last twenty years, and Vilkas could feel the loss, not anywhere near what the loss of a bonded mate would be but a loss all the same. He felt...untethered. Kodlak had been Aela's forebear, and she'd always loved the old man, but his loss hadn't seemed to affect her much beyond an ordinary grief, solitary as she was by nature. Farkas seemed more concerned about his dog right now than his forebear, but then he had the bond with Edric that took precedence over all else. Yet another thing stolen.

Another groan, louder this time, came from the surviving Silver Hand, and Vilkas went to Aela, who was forcing a healing potion down the woman's throat. "Do you really think she'll talk?" he asked, exhausted. It had to be past midnight at this point.

"She'll talk to the Dragonborn," Aela said, voice quiet but fierce. "She won't have a choice."

"Of course," Vilkas muttered. He left his sister to it and went to the front door of Jorrvaskr. The storm was still raging overhead with no sign of stopping, and the pattern of the thunder made him suddenly, deeply uneasy. The very fact that there was a cadence to it, a rhythm… The booming rose and fell in a steady stream, like a song. Or a voice. And it didn't belong to the Dragonborn.

As he opened the door he saw Ahlam hurrying up the stairs behind Njada, a bag over her shoulder. He scowled and demanded, "Where is Danica?" Njada looked healed, or was at least no longer limping. The people in the plaza beyond were blissfully ignorant of the violence that had just taken place up the hill, praying on their knees in concentric circles around the Gildergreen. It would be impossible to hide what had happened here come morning.

"Busy," Ahlam said, terse.

Vilkas let it go, seeing the healer was tired, and realizing that Danica was probably even more so. This was a busy time of year for the head priestess of Kynareth even in the normal course of things, and Danica had been chilly lately towards the Circle. Ever since Edric had joined it.

He also realized, much too late, that his asking for Danica had been an insult to Ahlam. She was more than capable, not a Master Healer as her fellow priestess was but able to deal with the situation proficiently all the same.

She went directly to Athis as the most wounded of the Companions, and as Vilkas went back inside Njada moved in front of him. "What the fuck was this?" she said through gritted teeth.

"They were after Wuuthrad," he stated.

The shield-maiden sneered at him and retorted, "Like fuck they were. They took it, yeah, but they weren't-" Vilkas stepped around her and walked away, and she yelled at his back, "Why the fuck did they attack us!"

"There's a kid in the next room," Farkas warned. He chewed at his bottom lip, his gaze darting between Vilkas and Aela, who was stripping the half-coherent Silver Hand of weapons and armor while the woman weakly tried to push her away.

"And she deserves to know the truth! We all do!"

"When Edie gets ba-"

"Not good enough!" She marched up to Farkas and stood over him. "I know what he'll do. I know  _exactly_ what he'll do. He'll try to spin things, and talk around them, and make it seem like people are crazy, and come up with some kind of half-truth to get around it. Forget it. I want to know why these assholes came here."

Aela bound the woman's wrists, saying with a stern expression, "The Circle will-"

"The Circle's broken!" Ria gasped and Vilkas, Farkas and Aela went still, staring at Njada with differing expressions, and she insisted, "It is  _broken_ , damn it. Two Harbingers dead, back to back. Edric off screaming at clouds for who the fuck knows what reason, no,  _you_ know," she accused, poking Farkas in the shoulder. "I think all three of you know why, just like you know why these sons of bitches invaded our home. I'm sick of all the fucking secrets!"

Farkas made a sound of dread and got up to go sit down heavily in a chair and put his head in his hands, the dog following him. Aela looked at Vilkas, who was staring at Skjor's dead body again, watching the light from the banked fire glinting off the viscera spilled onto the floor. He sighed and looked at Aela, and the Huntress slowly shook her head with a glare of warning. He set his sword point-down and looked in turn at Athis, who stared back unhelpfully as Ahlam stood. The healer was expressionless as she avoided everyone's eyes and went to the woman Aela was kneeling over.

The Huntress asked, "Can you heal her? Enough to keep her from dying."

"What's to be done with her?" Ahlam asked, a wary tone to her voice. "I'm not about to let someone be mistreated, and I sure as Oblivion won't heal someone just so you can enact vengeance on her."

Aela huffed in offense, and Vilkas said, "She will not be mistreated. We will keep her until the Dragonborn returns. He will be able to get information from her without harming her, then she will be put down mercifully."

Njada sneered, "Why don't you turn her over to the guards, huh?"

He retorted, "Why didn't you get them on your way to the temple, or on the way back?" She glared at him. "Because the entire city doesn't need to know what happened here, during the New Life Festival at that. Do you want everyone to panic?"

"Oh, right, I'm sure that's the reason!"

"Sister," Ria pleaded, "this has to wait until Edric gets back. Please."

The shield-maiden exclaimed, "I'm not going to let him talk circles around this!"

"He won't." She looked pointedly at Aela, who frowned at her with suspicion, then her eyes skipped over Vilkas and landed on Athis. "We won't let him." The elf slowly nodded.

Njada scoffed, "You think you've got any leverage with him? Don't fool yourself into believing someone like that thinks and feels the way a normal person does."

"Hey!" Farkas protested angrily. "You can't talk about my man like that! He does too!"

She ignored him, her anger faltering as she looked at Ria. "You know," she said in disbelief. "You know what it is. The Circle's secret." The young woman looked uncomfortable, and Njada said to Athis, "And so do you." The elf didn't react, gazing at her as if she hadn't spoken. Her eyes traveled to Ahlam, who was bent over the Silver Hand, ignoring them all as she cast healing magic over the woman. "Shor's balls," she whispered. "Am I the only one who doesn't? How far does this go?"

Aela, Vilkas and Farkas looked at each other then the big man put his head in his hands again. The redhead relucantly stated, "The Jarl knows. Olfina knows. Brill. Sinmir. Danica. Jenssen. Ahlam. Andurs. Eorlund, Avulstein. Tilma. Enough people in enough places in this city that you should take our word that we have our reasons for not wanting to discuss this until Edric returns. Yes, the Circle is broken, and the Companions damn well near it. Nothing can get fixed until Edric gets back. He's...good at fixing broken things."

Vilkas nearly said  _Only when he's the one to break them_ , but the thought stopped him cold.

 _It will be his job to fix things when he gets back_.

Skjor had said that, earlier that evening. All his distracted behavior lately, his unusual sentimentality. The odd way he and Edric had looked at each other over the tabula set. Half a dozen incongruous moments, or things said.

And  _Edric_. Fucking Edric. Making a show of leaving the city. Announcing to everyone in it that the Dragonborn was gone, and leaving Jorrvaskr a sitting duck. Practically taunting the Silver Hand in the city to attack, and it was a given that he had known they were here. He'd practically admitted as much the other night.  _Lots of strangers in town, and some of them are sketchy-looking._  Talking in circles, the way he always did.

And Vilkas' own brother. His twin. The person he had shared everything with until the bastard had shown up and turned everything on its head. Skjor had known this was going to happen, and so had Edric. And so had Farkas.

"Traitor," he whispered, his ears ringing. Farkas lifted his head and looked at him in confusion, and Vilkas turned away from him, feeling numb and disconnected. He accepted healing from Ahlam but couldn't muster the presence of mind to even thank her for it once it was done.

He let Aela take charge and did as she directed, he and Farkas gagging the Silver Hand and putting her in the cage in the Underforge then coming back to deal with Skjor's body and begin the cleanup. If Farkas kept looking at him funny, well, he could continue to do that, Vilkas didn't care. He nearly broke when Tilma finally ventured out of her room and began to weep, but others took her in hand and kept Lucia from seeing the worst of it.

When dawn came, Aela and Farkas went up to Dragonsreach to inform the Jarl and Sinmir. Athis and Ria stripped the Silver Hand bodies of anything that could identify them, the wolf tails taken by Vilkas to the Underforge where the woman there shrieked and spat at him, out of her mind with terror, hoarse from screaming. Understanding lit Njada's eyes as he took the gathered tails out of the hall, along with a healthy dose of disgust, but she stayed silent through it all other than monosyllabic answers to direct questions, and she assisted in the cleanup and went to fetch Andurs afterward to help prepare Skjor's body. Vilkas respected that. He didn't have anything to say either.

It was well into the morning when Vilkas was finally able to go through the motions of washing his bloody, bone-tired body and cleaning his sword. Nothing more could be done for now, and while she disliked the role Aela was in charge for the time being. Until Edric returned. Vilkas didn't need to speculate about who would become Harbinger next. The idea that anyone else had a chance at the title was almost enough to make him laugh. It would be tinged with hysteria, though, so probably better if he didn't.

He walked into Farkas' room, where his traitorous twin was comforting the still-shaken and now-healed dog, and pulled his blankets from the bed and left, ignoring Farkas' whiny protests and calling of his name, closing the door behind him. Farkas had made his choice. He had chosen to let Skjor die. His own forebear. If he could sell out their Harbinger on Edric's say-so, if he could so coldly leave both Vilkas and Aela in the dark like this, he could do it to anyone. Vilkas didn't know who his twin was anymore. Not since Edric came along. Farkas had made it clear who his one and only loyalty was to.

Vilkas locked himself in his room, waiting for Farkas to come after him, but of course the big idiot didn't. No one else did either, and he drifted off to sleep at some point to the sound of people coming and going upstairs. Aela was dealing with things, and Athis seemed willing to play backup, reserving his judgment against the Circle until later, and that would have to be good enough. It was good enough.

The numbness held until the very last day of the year 205 when the Dragonborn deigned to drag himself back to Whiterun, to Jorrvaskr, and all it took was one look at the man's face for the numbness to evaporate in an inferno of white-hot fury.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dovahzul Translation (Legacy): Zu'u fen ni ofan vok ahmuli - I will not give up my husband
> 
> There's a little companion piece to this, written from Hadvar's perspective. Please visit "It Came As No Surprise" (the next work in this series, if you want to call it a series) if you're interested. It has a bit of a teaser for the next chapter and gives a bit more insight into Edric's character from someone other than the twins.
> 
> Skjor, I'll miss you. ;_;


End file.
